Push Alchemy
by FeistyFeist
Summary: When Ponyboy Curtis had the accident, everything fell apart. The letter simply pushes everything forward as things will never be the same again.
1. Chapter 1

A little one shot…but it could be more. Just not sure if it's interesting enough... Let me know what you all think!

Please leave reviews…after all yesterday was my birthday! ;)

XXXX

_**Alchemy: SOLVE ET COAGULA — Separate and Join Together**_

XXXX

I don't tell my brothers about the letter.

Never mind the fact that it's addressed to a D. Curtis and not myself. The minute I pull the letter from the mailbox I feel something. Connectedness. A surety that I have never felt before makes me act. I smile and hope my older brother doesn't punish me for mail fraud.

My finger slides under the flap of the envelope. I bite back a curse as the sharp edge slices my finger and pull out the letter.

The handwriting is blocky and shaky. My smile, my anticipation fades and my stomach churns. I read the letter through once, my green eyes scanning the page in disbelief. Then, when I am done, I barely make it to the bathroom before throwing up over the toilet or "The Porcelain Throne," as Two-Bit calls it.

After my body is empty, I go into the living room again and retrieve the letter. I sit on our couch and stare at it, trying to memorize the 10 numbers. 918-751-7899.

I have always wondered about that night and now the answers have just fallen into my lap. Instead of feeling relief, I feel anger

I frown. I am always the last to know, the first to be sheltered from truth.

Pain…not so much.

I grip the letter tighter and think. My brain goes a mile a minute and I know if Darry were here he'd tell me to calm down and relax.

I want an explanation about why I have been kept in the dark. But I know what they'd say: _Pone, you were too young; we didn't want to upset you_… and a variety of other feeble excuses.

Yet, they are right. Things have been rough the last few months.

I just don't care.

I deserve to know since I am affected just as much as they are.

_I wonder if Soda knows_.

And as my anger swirls and is about to get the better of me, the front door swings open and my brother's walk in, accompanied by Steve. Hastily, I stick the letter under the couch cushion and manage a weak smile.

Soda grins at me as Darry asks: "Is your homework finished?" Soda rolls his eyes at me behind Darry's back.

But I can't laugh. I look down at my palms and break out into a light sweat. "Yes," I say so quietly and seriously that I startle myself. I raise a hand to my temple.

Darry stops. "Ok," he begins slowly.

Steve, who has plunked himself in front of the TV and is now flipping through TV stations, glances at me. "What's wrong, kid?" But his tone is not harsh, it's genuine.

"Nothing," I mumble and scowl at him, hating the fact that things are so out of whack these days.

Soda cocks his head and leans against the wall, his brown eyes dull and pained. "Pone, are you-"

"It's nothing, Soda," I repeat. "Absolutely nothing."

Darry, deciding not to press things, says, "Well, if you feel all right and since it's a Friday, go out and have some fun." He attempts a light-hearted chuckle. "Just remember to be home by 12."

I sit there a brief moment feeling the urge to scream aloud. Instead, I make up an excuse about being tired and go lay down in the bedroom I share with Sodapop.

That night, I dream about the phone number. Who it would call and what it would tell me. Dial tones murmur in my ear and an occasional "hello?" answers. I hang up and punch the numbers. Over and over again.

I toss and turn in between the sheets. And then - at three in the morning - I wake up screaming and crying. Soda, crouched over me, looks ready to cry as well. "Glory, you scared me," is all he can say.

"It's the worst one yet," Darry tells me, beads of sweat on his brow, his knuckles white from gripping my shoulders to shake me awake.

And why wouldn't it be. I have so much more to dream about and be afraid of these days.

The next morning I pick up the phone and I dial.

XXXX

The bar where I sit is a familiar one. It is loud, dark and smoky; the leather seats in my booth ripped and worn. But it is comforting. I'll catch hell for being here but now isn't the time for discretion.

I see him enter the bar. He is tall and wears a light sport coat with faded jeans. Nervous, he rubs his hands together and scans the bar. I sit where I should be and he approaches the dark corner.

"D-Darrel?" he stutters.

"No." I tilt my chin up. "I'm his brother. Ponyboy…" I resist the urge to wince as I realize I expect the man to know who I am. I grit my teeth and don't offer up any further explanation.

He exhales and slides across from me. "Oh. Yeah. Sure, sure." We are silent for a few moments until a waitress comes for our order. "Scotch," the man - Donald Parker - states. "You want one?" he asks me.

My fists clench under the table. "I'm 16." My head begins its easy descent into a dull throbbing.

"Oh. Yeah. Right, right," Donald intones absentmindedly. The waitress gives us both a look and disappears.

Donald slumps back against the booth, his face now weary. "Look. Kid…" His voice is soft and I blink. Donald is probably only 30 - old in my mind - but still young. "I wanted to tell you how sorry I am-" His voice cracks and he stares at his hands.

Suddenly, I don't feel as brave as I did when I called Donald Parker. Somehow I don't think I'll be able to listen to his apologies. And as the waitress drops the scotch on the table and Donald takes a long swig, my stomach somersaults and I burn inside.

I want to hurt him. Kill him. Because as I watch him take that drink, I know it was that drink which killed my parents nearly two years ago.

Donald notices my eyes and with a jolt he sets his drink back down. He has realized his mistake. The ice cubes rattle together, clinking in the glass. He traces its rim with shaky fingers. "Kid," he attempts, "don't look at me like that…"

His haunted eyes meet my own. He has come to beg my forgiveness but I've been saving that for a special occasion.

A few seconds pass and then he tries again. "I never meant for it to happen."

I finally find my voice. I am pleased that it does not shake, that he cannot hear the hurt beneath it. "But it did. It did happen. But not to you. To us." I clench my fists again.

I want to ask him how his time in jail went, why he's out and why he wrote that damn letter. Did he honestly expect Darry to meet him?

Giving up, he takes a long swallow of his scotch. I lean in close and point to his drink. "You know, that was what got you into trouble in the first place."

Donald's face crumbles and he smacks the tumbler down hard. A few drops of golden scotch spill out and bead down the table. "I can't win. With you, with myself."

I frown and scrutinize the scotch as if it were a foreign object. I can't understand why he wrote the letter; nothing's changed. He's still drinking. This isn't an apology it's an insult. "Did you really expect everything to go back to normal?"

_No_, a small voice inside of me says. And suddenly I don't think I'm talking about Donald Parker anymore.

"Eventually." Donald's voice drops and he reaches across to grab my wrist. "I really didn't see their car. Honest to God, I just came around the bend and flew into them. I didn't drink that much, just one or two-"

"Stop it. Shut up." My voice cracks and I try to wrench my wrist away but he won't let me.

Suddenly angry, he jerks my arm. "Isn't this what you wanted? To hear what happened, hear an apology? To meet the man who killed them?"

I explode. "I didn't know! No one told me it happened like this." Something wet drips down my face and spatters on the tabletop.

Donald's face changes. It mergers from anger into extreme guilt. His hand loosens, my wrist sliding limply from his grip. I ignore the red welts on my arm and wish I could disappear.

"Listen kid, you gotta listen. I was drunk. I own that…but I haven't had a drink since that night." Donald snorts and looks down at his half-drained scotch. "Well, except for tonight."

"Congratulations," I snap, knowing he's lying, "at least my parents were good for something. Kept you on the wagon." Then, I say what I have wanted to say ever since reading that letter: "You ruined everything. And I hate you for it. I really do."

It is worse to know that my parents have died because of some drunk behind the wheel. It had been so much easier to tolerate the fact that it wasn't anyone's fault …just dumb luck.

So much easier… 

Threading his fingers through his blonde hair, Donald squints at me in the dim light. "I know you do. I just wanted to try and explain-I can't imagine how hard it must be. It's hard for me too. The nightmares and all…"

My vision blurs and I blink.

_Nightmares? Oh buddy, let _me_ tell you about nightmares._

The guy says he's doing this for me. But he's a liar. He's doing this for himself. Trying to clear his conscience. Well, I'm not a priest and I am not about to bless him. No way in hell.

I raise my face and clear my throat. "I don't need to know any more. A drunk killed my parents. Done. Over with. But, if the State takes me from my brothers because of you, you're going to have a lot of problems."

Donald takes a long, last look at the kid he has wrecked and stands up. He drops a couple of dollar bills on the table and says, "I'm sorry. Again." He walks out the door and I am alone.

Apart from running away to Windrixville, this was probably one of the stupidest things I have ever done in my life. I have tried to be strong for so long and has brought everything back. Mom and dad. Johnny and Dally. Gone. All gone.

I lower my face into my hands and sit there a long minute. I breathe in and exhale. Slow and deep. I dig my palms deeper into my eyes and try to control myself.

Something squeaks.

Lowering my hands, I see Darry sitting across from me. My brother looks ill, his hair sticking up in messy spikes, his blue eyes intense. Before I can say anything, he reaches across and grabs both my hands.

"I don't know how the hell you found out."

Amazed at his accusation, I draw back. Hastily, I dig around in my pockets and slap the letter on the table. In silence, I wait.

My brother hesitantly takes the crumpled piece of paper and reads it through. He pales and bites his lip, his jaw twitching.

"Darry," I ask when he's done, "why didn't you tell me?" My voice is strained as I try to control my fury.

Darry's eyes are cloudy and he struggles for the right words. "Pone…the cops weren't even sure what happened. They told me it was a hit and run and that was it. Then…right after Johnny and Dally…and your concussion…they found him. Parker."

I sit and wait.

Darry continues. "Honey, it wasn't the right time to tell you when you were so sick. And then…it never was the right time."

"Does Soda know?"

He falters and then says, "Yes."

The blood drains from my face and I nod slowly. "That's not fair," I say monotonously. It is childish to say but it's true. I can't decide who to be angrier with: Soda, the one who would tell me anything or Darry.

"Parker got paroled a month ago." Darry sighs with resignation. "I should have told you then…but with the accident…"

"Yeah, yeah, the accident," I say and sink lower into the booth. Brief memories flood me.

That day at the ranch should have been just like any other day but it wasn't. Soda had been in a hurry to ride and didn't fasten my saddle correctly. Neither one of us noticed until a few miles into the ride, a rabbit ran across the path, startling our horses. My horse whinnied and bucked, rearing up on its hind legs. The saddle flew off and I flew with it, hitting the ground with a sickening crack.

From then on it's a blank.

The only other thing I remember is Sodapop screaming: "Oh my god. He hit his head! He hit his head!"

When I woke up I was met with a shitty memory, a guilt-stricken Soda and a visit from the state.

So because of "unfortunate circumstances" as the state puts it, I'm very close to being slapped into a boy's home.

That and now this letter don't help me very much. Almost unconsciously, I scratch the side of my head where the scar from my accident is; Darry pales and watches me with anxious eyes.

Then, my composure fractures. "Did you think it wouldn't matter to me?" I plead, my voice high and squeaky. I resist the urge to slam Donald's scotch against the opposite wall.

"No. I knew it _would_ matter to you. Too much even. You…" Darry speaks slowly, "…have handled so much. We – me and Soda – just wanted to-"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Please, spare me."

Darry takes a shuddery breath. "Ponyboy, I know you're angry. I'm sorry. Soda and I both are."

It is silly and childish but I suddenly play connect the dots: Without Donald Parker my mom and dad would still be here, Johnny and Dally still walking and talking, and the goddamn state wouldn't be on my case.

It is then that I want very badly to cry. I have just met the man who has made my present. And it hits me hard.

"I can't be taken away, Darry," I say abruptly.

Darry wilts but rallies quickly. He needs to make me believe as well as his self. "Ponyboy," he says sternly. "You won't be. You absolutely will not be."

XXXX

One shot?

Hopefully not too melodramatic…

Note: This is a "what if" regarding how the parents died. From what I have read in the book they always refer to it as a "car accident/crash". I just wanted to see how maybe they'd react in different circumstances.

Thanks! Please review!


	2. Chapter 2

Ok-we'll see how this goes.

FYI (for those who don't know): this is not a continuation of my other stories. This is a completely different tale…(haha)

Thanks for the reviews and please leave more for little ol' me!

Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns these great characters. Except for Parker and anyone else my twisted brain creates.

XXXX

I been had and I been held

With the ghosts at bay

I been oaked and I been doped

And carried away

I been charred and I been scarred

On my own face

But I never thought I'd see you as I did today

-Rilo Kiley

XXXX

"_Soda," Steve grumbles. "I don't know why I gotta come out here too. You know I hate horses." He scowls down at his horse and then at me. _

_I pat my black horse on the head and turn around to my best friend. "Don't take your anger out on the poor animal, Stevie. Just because I like them better than you."_

"_Hardy har," he tells me and scowls once more. _

"_Well, it makes sense Soda. Because unlike Steve Randle," Two-Bit says approaching, "horses are naturally smart and kind." _

_Ponyboy and Two-Bit burst into laughter. I shake my head, trying to hide my grin and adjust my horse's reins. I hadn't been riding in a while but Darry knew a friend who didn't mind letting us take the horses out on his ranch. It had been a bitch trying to talk my friends into coming out with me. I was the only one who liked to ride but hated riding alone. _

_Ponyboy plops the saddle onto his chestnut mare. "Hey Sodapop," he says in his quiet, serious voice, "willya help me with this?" _

"_Sodapop!" Steve shouts as I sidle up to my brother and inspect his saddle half-heartedly. "I swear if this horse takes a crap-"_

"_Steve, I knew there was a reason you work with cars," I shout back, my attention being diverted from the saddle to Steve. "You have no patience for living objects."_

_Ponyboy chuckles. "Hey, _I've_ known that for years." _

_I laugh as my fingers fly through the loops and I hastily cinch Ponyboy's saddle. "There you go." I tug at the stirrup and ruffle my brother's hair. "You're all set." _

"_Oh, this is going to be good," Steve comments as Two-Bit attempts to swing onto his horse. Then, with an awkward grace, Two-Bit manages to flip Steve the bird and simultaneously pull his self up on his horse. _

_Steve gives in and laughs. "Show off."_

_We get on our horses and began to trot down the field. It is about five in the evening and the August weather is smoky and hot. Storm clouds threaten to brew and rain would almost be a welcome relief._

_Half an hour into the ride, Steve and Two-Bit begin their usual mid-afternoon bickering. This time the argument centers on the difference between a nerd and a dork. Ponyboy sides with Two-Bit, which is only to grate Steve's nerves. _

_I smile at my barely turned 16-year old brother and break my horse into a gallop, feeling the need for quiet. Usually, I crave action – have never been the quiet type, but riding does something to me. It clears my head; gives me a rush I've never experienced with drag racing or rumbles. _

_Green fields and hills pass by me in a blur._

_And then it comes out of nowhere. _

_That damn rabbit. _

_It darts in front of the horses and they jump. Skittish, they rear back. "Whoa, who," I murmur, trying to calm my horse._

_Behind me, Steve swears and Two-Bit sucks in a painful gasp. That's when I notice Ponyboy. His horse bucks and rears on its hind legs. Off come the saddle and Ponyboy. His hands slip from the reins, green eyes wide with confusion._

_My heart stops as they fly through the air; my breath stills, the surroundings turning to shades of black and white. _

_The saddle lands off to the side with a thud, dust rising in shimmery clouds. Then, the worst sound in the world reaches my ears: my brother cracks his skull on the hard ground. _

_Silence descends for a few startled moments and then I hear myself scream, "Oh my god. He hit his head! He hit his head!" _

"_Two-Bit!" Steve barks. "Go to the stables. Have them call for an ambulance. Now!" _

_Pale, Two-Bit whips his reins and is gone. _

_I am still hollering when Steve shouts, sliding out of his saddle, "Soda! Snap out of it, man." _

_And I do. I jump out of my saddle before even stopping the horse and rush over to my brother._

_Ponyboy is out cold. _

"_Pone?" Gently, I slap his face. He is lying on his side and when I roll him over I freeze. His head has hit a rock, a small puddle of blood pooling around the back of his head, like a halo. _

_I stare at his unmoving body and a slow fear pulses through me. It isn't until I hear the wail of the ambulance close by that I began to breathe again_

_At the hospital, I sit in the waiting room for hours. I sit on those hard, plastic chairs and go to pieces in front of everyone. I curse myself and that damned saddle, which will be the death of me. And no matter which way this turns out, I know I won't be riding again for a long, long time. _

_Then _he_ is there. Hard footsteps pound through the hallway and suddenly I find myself jumping up, hands outstretched. I open my mouth and I say-_

XXXX

"-Darry?" I ask as my brothers walk through the front door. I lift my eyes from the stack of cards in front of me. Steve and I have taken a detour from poker, instead trying to build a house of cards. "Where've you been?"

_Jesus_, I think, _I sound like Darry yelling at Ponyboy_.

Steve thinks it too because he raises an amused eyebrow at me.

Darry has his hands on Ponyboy's shoulders, almost guiding him into the house. I began to feel nervous. An hour ago, Darry had answered the phone and 30 seconds later rushed out of the house without any explanation.

Darry exhales loudly but doesn't look at me. "Later Soda." His eyes are on Ponyboy who is staring angrily at the opposite wall. "Pone. Ponyboy."

Grudgingly, Pony turns to Darry. "What." It is more of a statement than a question.

"Just…go to bed kiddo. We'll talk some more in the morning," he tells Pony gently.

"I bet we will," Ponyboy snaps. His green eyes flash; his face defeated and tired.

"I'm telling you," Steve puts in unwisely, "he's a smartass. And you know who he gets it from-"

"Shut up, Steve." Darry's face clouds over.

I shake my head slowly and flash my friend a tight smile: _You never learn_.

As Ponyboy begins to walk toward the hallway Darry adds, "Ponyboy, don't forget about the-"

Pony waves him off, shrugging. "Yeah, yeah. How can I forget? You never let me." My younger brother passes me by without so much as a glance. The bedroom door slams violently and the house of cards we have been building crumbles.

"Son-of-a-bitch," Steve murmurs irately.

Frowning, I stand up, my chair scraping back against the linoleum. "What. The hell. Happened?"

"He found out about Parker," Darry says curtly.

I can feel the blood draining from my face. I sit back down again. "Darry, I thought you weren't going to tell him!" I am furious; in fact, I can't remember the last time I have been this _angry_. Darry has promised me he wouldn't say anything, not until Ponyboy was ready.

"Soda," Darry says calmly, although I can tell he is hurt my by accusation. "I didn't tell him. Parker did."

My mouth flaps open and shut like a fish drowning on land. Finally, Steve asks in a dangerous voice, "That guy came by the house?"

"No." Darry's face is murderous. "And believe me, if he had, this would be a different story." Shaking his head as if to erase the entire evening, Darry sinks into his recliner "Parker wrote a letter to me-"

"Ponyboy found it didn't he?" I ask; my eyes shut waiting to hear what I already know.

"Worse. Pony went down at Buck's bar tonight. He met Parker," Darry finishes in a strained voice. "Buck called me. When he described the guy, I knew it was him."

"Shit." I put my palms up to my mouth and breathe into them. I have been afraid this would happen. My brother has just discovered something we have kept hidden for nearly a year. To make matters worse, we didn't hide it from _everybody;_ Steve and Two-Bit already knew. I couldn't imagine how he was feeling.

"That bastard," I suddenly snap, infuriated at the thought of what Parker had told Ponyboy. "Did you see him, Darry?"

"No." Darry has only met Donald Parker once. The day Parker went to trial and was convicted.

"That's probably a good thing, Sodapop," Steve says with a slight edge to his voice.

"Yeah." Somehow, I suspect that if Darry had seen Parker talking to Ponyboy, right now I'd be getting a phone call from the fuzz telling me my brother was in jail for attempted manslaughter.

"He hates me doesn't he?" I ask with resignation but also calmness, knowing Ponyboy definitely has the right to be upset at this particular moment.

Why this month? Why now? The accident has screwed badly with Darry and me. We keep trying to overcompensate and shield our brother from any further shock but keep failing. Badly. 

"He's pretty much pissed at all of us right now," Darry answers, his eyes on the shut bedroom door. Then, Darry's eyes meet mine and he says: "He's going to dream tonight, isn't he?"

"Oh, yeah. Big time."

XXXX

Leave reviews! Toodles!


	3. Chapter 3

Another one…read and review please!

XXXX

Try to see it my way,

Only time will tell if I am right or I am wrong,

While you see your way,

There's a chance that we may fall apart before too long.

Life is very short, and there's no time,

For fussing and fighting, my friend,

I have always thought that it's a crime,

So I will ask you once again.

-The Beatles

XXXX

Morning arrives too quickly.

I groan and swing my long legs over the side of the bed. I am not looking forward to spending my Sunday in another sterile office.

But duty calls… 

Hastily, I throw on a t-shirt and jeans and sit back down on the bed with a _plop_. "Jesus," I say almost in amazement. Bright lights flash in my vision; I have stood up too fast.

Pinching the bridge of my nose between my fingers, I sigh and wait for the familiar feeling to subside. Things haven't been the same since the accident. The headaches and dizziness are the worst of it.

I frown and rethink this. Actually, the worst that has come of this fiasco are Darry and Sodapop. Ever since the doctor has warned them that possible long-term brain injuries could surface unexpectedly, I have to have monthly check-ups.

I should consider myself lucky. But I don't. Instead, I wish that someone up there would cut me a break for once.

It figures; I make it through the negative gossip from last year and then this happens. Now, I have to deal with being more ammunition for the socs, another article in the local paper. Yet this time, instead of being categorized as a hero, I am

a goddamn poster child for brain injury.

I barely remember last night's dream. Donald Parker was there, only this time I was driving the car that my parents had been in. It was an eerie sensation but it felt oddly comforting.

I shake my head to clear thoughts I know I should not be having. The dizziness finally subsides and I stand up. Glancing around for my wallet, I suddenly freeze.

_Where did I put it?_ _I came home, came in the room_…I think and retrace my steps, _pulled it out and tossed it…_

For the life of me, I cannot remember. Now normally, I wouldn't be alarmed but this has been happening way too often. Last week at school, I couldn't remember what class I had at 1:30. I finally had to go to the office and get my schedule reprinted.

I shake off the thought and forget about finding my wallet. Instead, I pull open the bedroom door.

Stepping into the living room, I meet a very frustrated Darry. The phone is propped up on his shoulder, held up to his ear. "Sir, it's my day off," he explains, as he flips through papers that lay out on the coffee table. My medical records. "Can't you get anyone else to-" Darry's face turns red and he grits his jaw as the voice on the other end explodes.

"Who is it?" I ask Two-Bit. He has been leaning in the doorway listening to my brother's conversation with intense interest.

"Captain Crunch," he laughs, his gray eyes twinkling. Two-Bit ruffles my hair with such exaggerated force that I know he knows I know about Parker.

Darry continues, his voice calm. But I know my brother well enough to see that his tolerance is wearing thin. Patience is not one of Darry's strongest virtues; I know from experience when the thread will snap.

"Fine," Darry barks and slams the phone down, the receiver's ding reverberating in our ears. "Asshole," Darry mutters before turning to me. "I can't take you to your appointment today. I got called in." He sounds as if he has just killed my favorite pet.

Inside, I want to jump for joy. I keep a composed face and manage to shrug, "That's ok."

Darry scratches his head. "No. It isn't."

We all hear a bang and Sodapop bounds into the room, a sock in one hand and a shoe in the other. Soda sees me and smiles tentatively. "Hey, kiddo."

Darry brightens. "Pone, maybe Sodapop can take you…"

"No!" I say a little harsher than I intended to. "He has work too," I try to amend.

"Well, you have to go…"

"No, Darry. I don't," I argue. "It's too expensive. Besides, my head's not going to explode if I miss one appointment. Jesus Christ."

Soda looks as if I have slapped him and Darry looks ready to have some choice words with me.

"I'll take him!" Two-Bit interrupts the brewing fight. "It's my day off." He slings an arm around my shoulders.

My head jerks to my friend in dismay. _Oh, Two-Bit, leave it alone_, I think with frustration.

Darry raises an eyebrow. "Two-Bit, every day is your day off."

"See? I knew I didn't have a job for a reason."

Grinning, Darry jerks his thumb to my jacket, which is hanging on the coat rack. "Get your coat. You're going in an hour." Then Darry whips his finger around and points at me. "I'll talk to you later."

Then, he disappears down the hall to get ready for work, leaving me, Two-Bit and Sodapop to stand around awkwardly.

Two-Bit rocks on his heals. "Well, Darry's quite cryptic."

I bite my lip and groan inwardly. Either we're going to talk about Parker or Darry's going to chew me out for my big mouth. Either way, I'm not looking forward to it. But then again, it may be a relief to get yelled at. The past few weeks, the quiet around the house has been so unnerving I really think I am going nuts.

_I need to get out and have some fun. _

Soda takes up where Darry left off. "Pone, can we talk?" he says with a never-before-seen formality.

Two-Bit suddenly pretends to be extremely interested in my algebra homework.

I shake my head, pushing down the queasiness that is threatening to rise. "Later?" I try to say lightly.

I can't talk to him now. Because I'll start yelling. And Soda doesn't deserve that.

Not after all he's been through

XXXX

"We're not _really_ going, are we?" I ask Two-Bit as we climb into his busted truck.

"Nah. Figured we'd swing by the grocery store, pick up a six-pack and drive on down to Hawaii."

I laugh. "Two-Bit, you definitely need to work on your geography lessons."

"Kid, you know I was never any good at geology."

I snort with exasperation and roll my eyes.

Two-Bit shrugs nonchalantly. "Well then, since you have such a problem with it, doctor's office it is." He guns the engine and peels out. "Put your seatbelt on."

"It's stupid to make me go," I mutter, clicking the buckle into its clasp.

Two-Bit looks at me sharply. "Sure, it is. But just humor your brother's."

A few moments of silence pass and then he says: "So, you found out."

I glare at him. He sighs. "Kid, don't look at me like that. I was under explicit instructions from Darry not to mention a word of this to you. Plus, the threat of bodily harm may have contributed to my silence."

Again, I shoot him the glare.

"Ponyboy," Two-Bit says seriously, slowing down for a stoplight, "it wasn't my right."

As Two-Bit speeds up again, I say: "Yeah, well if the state takes me away it's not going to be Darry and Soda's right anymore either."

Shocked, Two-Bit jerks the wheel abruptly, causing the car to swerve unsteadily. My friend pulls the car over to the side of the road and cuts the engine. And then he says very slowly: "Look kid. I don't want to hear you talk like this anymore. If you do, I'm going to toss you out of the car on your scrawny ass and make you walk."

I pull back to get a better look at Two-Bit. A smile plays on both our lips, but I can tell I have upset him. I have never thought of Two-Bit as a hard ass…but right now he's proving me wrong. Because if I do say another word about the state, I have a strange feeling he'd actually follow through with his threat.

"Darry wouldn't be too happy with that," I joke.

"That's a chance I'm willing to take, kid," Two-Bit counters. "Pissing off your big brother is what I do best." Two-Bit starts the car again and pulls off the shoulder into traffic.

"I thought that was Steve's job."

"Let's just say we share the responsibility."

XXXX

"How are you feeling these days, Ponyboy?" My doctor asks, smiling down at me. Dr. Margaret Rice is a tall woman with short brown hair and glasses. She speaks in a forceful, clear voice and has a no-nonsense look. _This_, I think, _is why Darry likes her_.

"Swell."

I am sitting on an exam room table. Two-Bit sits across from me, in an ancient, plastic chair. His leg is jerking up and down, going a mile a minute. "Why're you nervous?" I ask him with amusement. He isn't the one up on the table ready to be poked and prodded and questioned.

"Can't help it. Doctors creep me out. No offense." He smiles at Dr. Rice. But I don't think that's it.

Dr. Rice chuckles and turns back to me. "You know Ponyboy, it's important to be honest. Hiding information – no matter how small you deem it – can have an important impact on your recovery."

I wrinkle my nose. "I think I'm recovered."

Two-Bit opens his mouth and then snaps it shut. It is then I know he is remembering back to the rumble and my omission of my throbbing head. He tries again and finds his voice. "Pone. I think you need to…well, spill the beans if anything's wrong."

I frown at my friend, but deep down know he is only trying to do right by Darry; make up for the last time.

Still, I shrug and drop my eyes. "No. Nothing," I mumble unconvincingly.

Dr. Rice makes a _tsking_ sound and slides an X-ray over a projector light. She hits a switch and my skull is lit up for the entire world to see. "The fracture here," she points to a thin line on the right side of my skull, "has healed quite cleanly. Obviously, the bleeding in the brain stopped after you were admitted…oh, about a month ago."

Dr. Rice flips through her notes and then snaps them shut. She stares at me. I stare back and cross my arms. This is where Darry would be yelling at me; instead, Two-Bit watches me with frustration.

We go through this every visit. Rehash the accident; it doesn't make me feel any better the second time I hear it.

Doctor's offices make me want to regress to a 6-year old. I consider myself pretty adult for my age but right now, all I want to do is have a temper tantrum and go home.

"What I am most concerned about," she continues after a long beat, "are any long-term consequences that aren't showing up on this X-ray. It was quite a serious concussion you endured - and not the first, as I understand. But I can't help you if you don't tell me."

"Ponyboy…" Two-Bit prompts.

I give in. Why fight it. They'd only beat it out of me later. "Alright," I sigh. "I get headaches a lot. Sometimes dizzy. And…and…I forget things."

Dr. Rice's eyebrows rise. "Elaborate."

"Like today. I couldn't find my wallet. And last week…I couldn't remember my phone number." My voice comes out young and scared. Finally, I drop my eyes to avoid seeing Two-Bit's ever deepening frown.

Dr. Rice nods as if she has expected this. "Pony, do you ever get lightheaded? Have trouble sleeping?"

I manage a sheepish grin. "Well, sleeping problems came along way before this accident. I was practically born with them." I chuckle lightly but neither Dr. Rice nor Two-Bit seem amused.

"Ponyboy, I'm going to write you a prescription for a sedative for the sleeping issues. When the headaches hit take some aspirin and try not to overexert yourself. There's not much we can do about the memory loss. It's possible these symptoms are just temporary; it's your body trying to heal."

"And if they're not temporary?" Two-Bit ventures, his face suddenly very adult.

"Well, Mr. Mathews, the long term effects are certainly better than the alternative aren't they?" Dr. Rice states bluntly. She scribbles a prescription, rips it off and hands it to me. "You're a very lucky boy," she says, issuing me her standard goodbye.

And I am done until next month.

XXXX

I stay in the kitchen when my brothers get home. I know it's them because of the way Darry pounds across the room and I can smell the diesel fumes on Sodapop a mile away.

I stir the rice and wish I could smoke in the house.

Darry asks where I am and what the doctor had to say. I try hard not to listen.

_Let Two-Bit tell him the news from the doctor's. He wanted to take me so he can do the dirty work. _

They speak in muffled words. Occasionally, I hear Darry sigh and Sodapop exclaim "what?" When Two-Bit is done, Darry thanks him and my friend leaves. I scrunch my eyes shut and when I open them, Darry and Soda are in the kitchen.

There faces scream intervention and suddenly I miss Steve Randle. He'd lighten the mood; make a few cracks about me being a smartass and everything would be normal.

"Why didn't you tell me about the dizziness, Ponyboy?" Darry asks, his voice struggling to stay calm.

"It didn't seem relevant?" I offer half-heartedly.

Darry slams his palm against the wall. "Damn it. Would you be serious for once? What about goddamn forgetting things?"

"Dar…" Soda murmurs, trying to still our brother. He turns to me. "Ponyboy, you should have told us about the headaches…"

"And you should have told me about Parker." I spin around, my green eyes flashing. "I'd say we're just about even."

Soda doesn't know what to say. He is ashamed and hurt by what I have said. The look on my brother's face makes me want to apologize instantly. But I don't. I can't – because I am not sorry.

Soda pulls himself together. "We really need to talk, kiddo. "

I stir the rice with a vicious force. "No. Soda, I can't talk to you right now."

It is a rare moment when Sodapop and I aren't getting along. Darry, taken aback, says haltingly, "Pony, it was wrong of us to keep it from you. But don't shut yourself off."

"Parker's a drunk," I suddenly say. There's really no right way to sit down and talk about this. So I may as well just come out with it.

My brother's freeze. Soda's eyes drop to the floor and he coughs.

"Yeah. I know," Darry says, his face hard. And then, knowing me the way he does, Darry warns: "Ponyboy, I want you to stay away from this guy. If he calls don't talk to him."

"Ok." But I wonder why Parker would call again if he already said what he had to say.

"I mean it kid." Darry, seeing that I am not going to fight him, holds out his hand. "Give me that prescription."

"It's on the table."

Picking it up, Darry reads over it. "This is for the nightmares?"

I shrug. "I guess."

"You want me to fill it?" He is unsure and glances at Soda for a silent discussion.

My eyes narrow; they must think I'll go off into the bathroom and OD the first chance I get.

But, I stop the sarcastic remark that threatens to erupt and say instead: "Shoot, Darry. I don't care. You're the ones who have to live with me."

I smile a real smile for once and Soda grins broadly.

I need to dig down deep for myself. I know I'm in there. I just have to get past my momentary hurt and anger.

Because it can't stay there forever.

Can it? 

XXXX


	4. Chapter 4

Read and review please! Any suggestions so far? Thanks for reading…! I hope this isn't getting boring…I am getting a plot worked out….hopefully! ;)

I don't own the Outsiders or the song "Wonderful, Wonderful".

XXXX

Lacing my tennis shoes, I stand up and stretch in the morning sunlight. The red earth beneath my feet makes me eager. My eyes scan the track and I can almost feel my legs aching to run.

School has been in session for about a month and a half. This is our first practice of the season. I jump on my tiptoes, trying to get my blood pumping through me in the chilly air.

Adam Baker runs up to me. "Think you'll beat me?"

"I know I will."

We grin at each other. Adam has been my running buddy and closest competition since junior high.

"Baker, Curtis!" Coach Quinn barks. "Get in line. You're holding us up!"

"Pompous prick," Adam says under his breath as we line up with the rest of our team.

I laugh silently and shake my head. Adam's mouth gets him in trouble more times than I can count. _I wonder how he'd hold up against Darry_; I think and imagine the interesting scenario.

Positioning myself for the sprint, I wait for Quinn's yell and then we all take off. I am barely even halfway around the track before my head begins to throb. "Oh, shit," I whisper, my hands coming up to my head.

Lightheadedness and spots overwhelm me and suddenly I am on my knees, my palms digging into the ground.

I sway for a moment and try to breath evenly. Surroundings stop swirling together, colors return. When I sit back on my heels, my coach and few members of the team are staring down at me with sympathy.

"You okay, Ponyboy?" Adam asks.

"Guess you beat me." I manage a weak smile.

"Curtis," Coach Quinn grunts, "Nurse. Now! Go!" How this man manages to speak in monosyllables and still get his point across amazes me.

"Coach, I'm fine," I try to explain. "Just let me-"

"You're not running today, Curtis. Get yourself to the nurse and we'll talk next practice."

I glower at him and pull myself up. Somehow, I doubt that there will be a next practice.

XXXX

The nurse presses a cool washrag into my hand. "Sit down, honey."

"No. I'm fine. Really." I toss the rag into the sink and head toward the door. I have stayed in the office long enough to placate Coach Quinn. He has left and now so will I.

"You don't need me to call your parents?"

_Good luck there_. "Actually, can I have some aspirin?"

"Sure." The nurse digs around in a cabinet and finds a bottle. Twisting off the cap, she drops four into my palm. "Some for later." She gives me a reassuring smile.

"Thanks," I mumble before stepping out of the office. I examine the small white pills in my hand and dry swallow all of them.

_Work your magic. _

I am insanely pissed. Not to mention embarrassed. I nearly fainted in front of the entire track team and I know with high certainty that I won't be running again. The coach won't want me if I can't pull it together. Plus, it is highly unlikely that my brothers will let me.

That is, if they hear about this.

I spin on my heel to turn the corner and run smack into Steve. His hands come out and grab my shoulders.

"Ponyboy…"

"What do you want?" I snap, stepping around him.

He scratches his head, his face darkening. "Someone said you passed out on the field."

"Just forget it, Steve." I continue down the hall. A few seconds later, Steve is behind me.

"Do you need me to take you home?"

"No. I have class – I'm fine." I don't have to worry about Steve saying anything. His motto: If it worries Soda, it's not worth mentioning.

Steve studies my face, his black eyes narrowing. "All right. Well…come get me if you need to leave."

"I won't," I tell him and hurry off, leaving him standing among the rows of yellow lockers.

If there's one thing I hate, it's sympathy from Steve Randle. Steve still pretends to dislike me, but now, ever since the accident I know he doesn't. It's unnerving. Things have changed but only because of that damned saddle. Those terms don't make me happy; I just want things back to normal. Before the accident…and the letter.

XXXX

I go straight home after school. The nicotine from the cigarette I smoked doesn't help my head but I still feel better than I did.

Pulling out my history textbook and my notebook, I settle myself at the kitchen table. I have a paper due in a few days and since I know the first words out of Darry's mouth when he gets home will be "finish your homework" I better get a head start.

Soda, Steve and Two-Bit arrive home two hours later to find me still huddled over the paper. Dinner has not been started because I have stumbled onto something much more unsettling.

"Soda, the mere fact that you won't accept this bet leads me to believe that you fear me," Two-Bit is saying as they enter the kitchen.

Steve groans. "Not this again. Last time you two threw down the gauntlet, you got food poisoning," he points at Two-Bit and then Sodapop. "And you nearly got your ass arrested."

Ever since April, Sodapop and Two-Bit have been in the process of daring each other to complete stupid stunts much to the chagrin of Darry and Steve. I just sit back and laugh.

Scoffing, Soda rolls his eyes. "Well, how should I have known it was a police car?"

"The big, bright lights on top didn't give you that idea, buddy?" Steve asks with an exasperated grin.

I frown and try to ignore them. "I know this word. I know this word. I know this word."

"Kid's stuck on repeat." Two-Bit nods at me and opens the fridge for a beer.

"Tough homework?" Soda inquires, peering over my shoulder. Steve and I don't look at each other.

I nod and try to focus. Disconcerted, I tap my pencil against the paper. I shut my eyes and tilt my head, trying to think. "What's the word for…for…?" My palms come out and gesture rapidly, as if trying to pull the answer out of thin air.

"What word?" Two-Bit asks, taking a sip of beer.

Soda eyes me nervously.

"Damn it." I throw my pencil down and tilt back in my chair. I eye my paper with distaste. "I know I know this word. I know this word. I know this word," I chant.

"Damn it."

"What word?" Two-Bit repeats a bit more quietly.

"You know…the word for…to…to…" I raise a hand to my temple, digging my fingers into its side. This simple gesture has become an unconscious habit. "…to take someone out…throw someone over-"

"-Eradicate," Steve interrupts brusquely.

"Yes!" I snap my fingers at him and scribble down the word. Then I sit back and look at him, not with annoyance but with resignation. "I should have known that," I say quietly.

"It happens to the best of us." Soda forces a smile. "I'll start dinner. Finish your paper, Ponyboy."

XXXX

_It is snowing. The street blanketed in a flimsy sheet of white. They climb in the old car. It starts up; exhaust pouring out of the tailpipe and curling up to reach the sky. _

_My mom reaches across my father and locks his door, her long, auburn hair falling across her eyes. "Just in case," she says, shooting him Soda's smile. _

"_What would I do without you?" My dad laughs and pulls the car out onto the dark highway. They are leaving a friend's house, a rare night out on the town without the kids. _

_My mom shivers and pulls her coat tighter. "It's chilly out, even for Tulsa." _

"_Laura, what'd I tell you? It's going to be the coldest winter yet." _

"_Darrel, please not that again," she laughs. "Stop listening to your old farmer friends' weather reports and just turn on the heat."_

_He joins in on her laugh and closes his right hand across her own. _

"_I hope the boy's are ok," my mom murmurs, her motherly concern brewing. _

_My father raises an eyebrow. "Oh, I'm sure by now Darrel has been driven crazy by Steve and Soda." He squints through the windshield and scratches the week-old beard on his face. "Better him than me." _

_She shakes her head, a small smile on her face. "I do agree with that." _

_Finally, they settle into comfortable silence. The odometer reaches 65; prime highway speed. _

"_How're you doing back there, son?" My dad asks, turning around._

_Suddenly, I am in the backseat of the car. _

I shouldn't be here. This is just a dream. Wake up. Wake up now.

_Snapping out of my initial shock, I lean forward. "Dad, you gotta stop the car. Right now. Someone's coming. Parker's coming." _

"_What're you talking about honey?" My mother's brown eyes flash as she turns to stare at me. "Don't you know you're not supposed to get on that horse?"_

"_Wait-what?" I am caught off guard. _

"_That horse. It's not going to work. You need to listen to me." Expressionless, she turns back to the front seat and reaches for the radio. She flips it on; static at first and then Johnny Mathis begins to sing:_

"_Sometimes we stand on the top of a hill_

_And we gaze at the earth and the sky_

_I turn to you and you melt in my arms_

_There we are, darling, only you and I_

_What a moment to share_

_It's wonderful, wonderful_

_Oh, so wonderful, my love…"_

_My eyes widen as they round the curve and I see the headlights coming up over the hill. I grab for my seatbelt. But just like the saddle it will not work. _

_Shit._

"_Dad! Stop!" I yell before the oncoming car smashes into us. _

_The car spins around like a tornado and my head slams against the window. The glass cracks and shatters. Someone screams in my ear and I badly wish the seatbelt had worked._

_The redness of blood is beautiful against the snow and at first I cannot remember the horror behind it. And then, I find myself staring up at the sky; the stars wink. They wink once more and then go-_

XXXX

"Go away!" I scream at the person currently shaking me. "Just go away," I sob into my pillow. "Please."

"I'm not going anywhere," I hear my big brother say calmly. "Please just wake up. You're not dreaming anymore."

My hair is pushed back by Soda's hands. "C'mon kiddo. Rise and shine." Sodapop rolls me onto my back.

My eyes flutter open and I squint against the yellow light flooding the bedroom. I un-tense and go limp with the knowledge that I am safe.

"Mom said not to ride that horse. She told me not to." I say woozily. "Why didn't the saddle work? I don't understand…"

A sharp intake of breath, the bed creaks and then a door slams down the hall.

The bed creaks again as more body weight shifts. "Sodapop?" Darry's voice gets farther and farther away from me. He knocks at a door. "Come on, Soda. It's not your fault. You know that. He does too."

XXXX


	5. Chapter 5

Alrighty-I swear updates won't be this fast all the time. So enjoy while you can! Muhahah! Leave reviews if you read - I greatly appreciate it!

Toodles!

XXXX

If we lived in a world without tears

How would misery know

Which back door to walk through

How would trouble know

Which mind to live inside of

How would sorrow find a home?

-Lucinda Williams

XXXX

_"It's my fault, Darry," Soda says to me on our second day at the hospital. _

_It is three in the afternoon and Soda has followed me down to the deserted vending machine. Ever since Ponyboy's admittance he has looked on the verge of exploding._

_The phone call I had received from him two days ago was enough to make me age 20 years. He had been screaming, hollering, crying. I couldn't understand any of it. And because it was so unlike Sodapop I knew something was really wrong. _

_Blankly, I stare at the buttons on the vending machine. I want - no need - a coffee but can't figure out which buttons I need to push to make that happen. "What are you talking about Sodapop? Of course it isn't." _

_I hear him utter a strangled noise and I turn around. His eyes are rimmed pink and I don't think he has changed clothes since the accident. "Soda," I say softly. "It was just-"_

_"No, Darry." Soda shakes his head and stares at the ground. He looks much younger than 18. "It wasn't."_

_My head darts up sharply, my jaw tightening. "What are you talking about?" A heartbeat is a strange thing, I think as I feel my own skip a beat. _

_Soda takes a deep, shaky breath. "He asked me to check the saddle. To tighten it. I barely glanced at it. I didn't care. I was screwing around with Steve and didn't listen to him." _

_His words brush over me and the small room drains of its air. _

_Suddenly, I am very, very angry with my brother. "Oh, Soda. Don't tell me that. Please, say you didn't."__I press my fingers to my forehead and wait. _

_For once in a long time, I act like a brother instead of the parent I've been forced to become. The brother who teases, who whines, who yells. Deep down I know it's not Soda's fault but blame finds its way. _

This all could have been avoided had Sodapop not been reckless_, I think and open my mouth without a second thought. _"_Sodapop, what in the world were you thinking? Riding isn't a joke. He could have died!" I grit my jaw and resist the urge to slam my fist through the vending machine's glass front. "Do you understand that?" _

_I must be loud because heads turn our way and Steve begins to walk toward us. _

"_Of course I do!" Soda snaps. His face is angry and pleading all at the same time. "How do you think _I_ feel? I was there…It's my fault…I saw him hit-" He breaks off and turns away from me. _

_Steve nearly runs the remaining distance from the middle of the hall to us. "You guys don't do this. Not now." _

"_Steve," Soda and I say in unison, "Shut up." _

"_No. I mean you really can't do this now." His face is so much more complacent than his panicked voice. He jerks his thumb back. "A social worker's here." _

_I raise an eyebrow, in disbelief at what I have heard. "What?" _

"_Shit," Soda hisses. "Goddamn son-of-a-bitch." Anger has now replaced his guilt. _

_All at once, Soda and I are united again. _

"_Well, you got the bitch part right," Steve snarls._

"_Where?" I say and without waiting for an answer I began to stride back up to the waiting room corridor. _

Just what I need right now.

_But I sigh and ready myself for this. After all, it's my job and I do it damn well. _

"_Mr. Curtis?" the social worker states, stepping into my path._

"_Darrel," I say and hold out my hand. "What can I do for you?"_

"_I'm Patty Strickland." She doesn't take my hand, instead choosing to focus on her notes. Patty's gray eyes narrow and she lifts her blonde head. "It is very upsetting to find out this way, Mr. Curtis." _

_A million questions form on my lips but before I can ask what the hell she's taking about her hand comes up and shoves a newspaper under my nose. A small article on the front page exclaims: _Local teen injured in riding accident._ Ponyboy's photo stares back at me. _

_Patty continues. "Usually when accidents happen, it is expected that we will be informed immediately. Especially when custodianship is not permanent." _

"_As you probably know, I've been trying to focus on my brother." My voice comes out as a monotone because any octave higher would get me thrown out of the hospital._

_She laughs, an icy tinkle coming from her lips. "Yes, well I should hope so." _

_I frown, not liking what that sentence implies. _

_Patty clicks her pen and clears her throat. "I suppose you're wondering why I'm here. I'm here to investigate negligence on your part." The woman smiles, baring her white teeth. _

"_That's not necessary," I growl. _

"_What the hell are you talking about?" Soda interjects. _

_Spinning around, I grab his arm. "Soda. Go sit down." Behind him, Steve shoots me an apologetic look. _

_Soda shoves me away. "No. I want to know what she's talking about." He eyes Patty dangerously. "What in the hell are you doing here, lady?"_

_As much as I already dislike her, I have to hand it to the woman, she doesn't flinch or step back; even with Soda jumping down her throat. _

"_Sodapop. Go sit down," I reiterate firmly. " I'll handle this." _

_I am ignored by both parties. _

_Soda moves closer to Patty while she narrows her eyes. _

"_Two concussions in a year?" Patty scoffs, shoots Soda a sickly smirk and finally acts her age; she cannot be more than 30. "Come on. That's no coincidence. This poor child nearly died and now you're trying to argue with me?" _

_Both our mouths drop open. Soda's brown eyes widen and his hands balls into tight fists. Soda looks ready to give as good as he is getting._

_In fact, I'm about there myself. _

_Then, Patty tilts her blonde head. She looks down at the newspaper. "Wait. Weren't _you_ there?" it is cruel and she knows it. _

_The arrow hits its target._

_The fight dies in Soda's eyes._

_Finally, Steve helps me out. "Sodapop. Let it go." He leads Soda to a chair. My brother drops into it, his eyes dull and numb. _

"_My, what a temper," Patty murmurs, blinking innocently. _

_I stand there, my hands in my pockets and try to think of some way to salvage this situation. "He's just upset. It's understandable." _

"_Oh, completely." She reaches into her purse. "Here's my card. I will be called the moment Ponyboy wakes up. Immediately. I need to speak with him regarding this…situation." _

_My protective instincts kick in and this is where I get really angry. My brother is not even conscious and some stranger from the State wants to interrogate him. I imagine Pony's scared eyes and take a step toward Patty Strickland. _

"_That's not going to happen, Ma'am. _I'll_ let you know when he's well enough to speak with you." _

_This time, she does step back, her eyes shocked and afraid. _

"_Now take your goddamn card and get the hell-"_

XXXX

"-Hello?"

"Mr. Curtis?"

"Yes?" I have never gotten used to this title.

"This is Kenneth Patterson. CPS, State of Oklahoma."

I forget about the tie I am trying to knot, the loop wrapped around my fingers. "How can I help you?" I grip the phone with a sweaty hand, the mirror in front of me reflecting its white knuckles.

"I'm calling to arrange a visit, re-evaluate…" Papers shift. "…Your brother - Ponyboy's - living situation."

"Sir, I'm sure there's no reason for this-"

"We'll decide that. Now, when's a good time to come by?"

I go numb as we set up a time for the visit and then slam the phone down. I swear if they take him away all the etiquette that my parents have taught me will go out the window. Not to mention my self-control.

Groaning angrily, I run my fingers through my hair and slam my dresser drawer shut. I have a date tonight, but somehow don't think I'm going to be much fun.

Two-Bit catcalls me as I exit the bedroom. "Hey, good lookin'..."

"…Whatcha got cookin'? Ponyboy intones absent-mindedly from his spot on the floor. He his sprawled out, long legs and arms everywhere. His tongue pokes out of the side of his mouth as he scribbles down math problems.

I shake my head at their antics, but am glad my brother is smiling for once. And if it takes Two-Bit to do that…well…I'll survive.

Two-Bit paces in front of the kitchen. "What are you doing?" I ask, dreading the answer. "On second thought, don't tell me," I say when he opens his mouth. "That way I'm not called to testify on your behalf."

Stepping over Ponyboy, I nudge his leg. "Get up off the floor. Someone's going to trip over you and break their neck."

My brother stiffens and instantly I know I have said the wrong thing. I grit my jaw and curse myself for my stupidity. Coughing into my hands, I say quietly, "Pone, I didn't-"

Pony rolls over on his back, looking up at me with strange, glassy eyes. "I'm just finishing up my homework. Then I'll get out of your way."

I frown, disturbed by his cryptic choice of words. _You're not a bother, not a chore_, I want to say. But I can't; I don't have a chance. He turns back to his homework and I know he is still angry about Donald Parker.

Frustrated, I almost want to drag him inside the bedroom and make him listen to me. But that wouldn't work. Ponyboy's never been one to listen; he'd fight me all the way.

"Need any help?" Steve asks Ponyboy casually with a mischievious grin. He is lounging on the couch, flipping through a magazine. No doubt waiting on Soda.

For some reason this snaps Ponyboy alive. "Only if it involves hubcaps and hair grease."

The look Steve gives my brother could cut glass; Pony smiles, proud of himself.

Soda bounds into the room. "Drink this," he commands me, holding up a glass filled with a watery greenish-brown mixture.

"Um, no."

"Aw, Soda," Steve whines. "What's this? You said you were getting ready."

"I got sidetracked." Soda waves the glass in my face.

"Ahem." Two-Bit sticks his hand out. "Allow the master."

A grin spreads across Ponyboy's face as he pulls himself up and sits back on his heels. "Two-Bit, you're gonna be sorry."

"Shut it, kid," Steve said scornfully. "Don't ruin the fun."

"Well, it's always a barrel of laughs when you're here," he rebuts.

"Knock it off you two," I growl. I don't want Steve getting my brother riled up tonight.

I edge for the door as soon as I see Two-Bit take a drink. Disaster is being played out in my living room and I want no part in it.

Two-Bit's eyes widen and he sputters, choking on Soda's concoction. "Sweet Jesus!" he says breaking into a sweat. "That tastes like vile, hideous broccoli mixed with…with…"

"Sardines?" Ponyboy adds helpfully.

Two-Bit snaps his fingers and points at Pony. "Yes. Yes, exactly."

Soda wrinkles his brow and frowns into the glass. "Hmm. That's not really what I was going for…"

"Soda, the smell alone disgusts me so I think you were quite successful." Grabbing my jacket, I slip it on, shoving the screen door open. The cool fall air hits me and I take a deep breath. As much work as they are, my brothers and my friends have made me forget about the state for a few thankful minutes.

I just don't know what I'll do next Thursday.

"Have fun Darry!" Soda yells, waggling his eyebrows.

I grin and hold the screen door open wider. "Oh, Sodapop?" I nod in the direction of the kitchen. "Don't you touch that blender."

XXXX

Meh. Not feeling this chapter. Not feeling the Darry characterization either. Blah, blah. Yada, yada.

And, I am spent.

Review for me!


	6. Chapter 6

I really feel like this is too depressing. I promise I'll try to lighten the mood! ;)

Please read and leave reviews! I love them!!! Especially since this is a long chappie!!

XXXXX

Your love alone - is not enough not enough not enough

When times get tough they get tough they get tough they get tough

Trade all your heroes in for ghosts in for ghosts in for ghosts

They're always the one's that love you most love you most love you most

Your love alone - is not enough not enough not enough

It's what you felt it's what you said what you said what you said

-Manic Street Preachers

XXXXX

_A 'D minus' ? _

I stare down at my latest test grade in disbelief. I had studied all night for this test; Darry had made sure of that.

Sitting in my desk - long after the students have left – I finally realize things are a long way from normal. I understand my subjects, my classes, but when the time comes to write a paper, to take a test, I just choke. My brain won't fire.

"Ponyboy," my chemistry teacher, Mr. Black, calls as I stand up, prepared to slink out of class.

Seeing my distressed face, he chuckles. "You just need to step up the studying, son." His big eyes blink at me from behind his huge coke bottle glasses, his curly red hair sticking up in all directions. Mr. Black is a nice man, always ready and willing to help a student out; too bad most of the class refers to him as Bozo the Clown behind his back.

"I have been, sir."

"Well uh, urm, maybe a tutor is what you need. Or maybe the difference between um, atoms and elements has you stumped."

"Maybe this just isn't my subject." I shrug, my fist closing around the paper angrily.

_Or maybe my Goddamn brain's fried_.

Mr. Black thinks about this for a moment and then nods, looking around sneakily. "Well son, let me give you some advice: good grades aren't everything."

_Tell this to my older brother_. If it weren't for Darry and his ingraining in me a sense of actually caring about grades, I probably wouldn't even give a shit.

Unfortunately, I do.

XXXX

Darry is home by the time I come trudging through the front door. It is one of his rare afternoons off. Unfortunately, I can tell by his hunched shoulders that he is using his free time to pay the bills.

"Bad news?" I ask, slamming the screen door behind me.

He looks up, startled. "Why're you home so early?"

"You know it's really fun when we avoid each others questions. I could get used to this." My voice is tired as I sling my coat on the couch.

Darry hesitates. Clearly, he has something to say. But I go first.

"Darry," I begin, "I'm not going to do well in school this year." Reaching into my backpack I pull out my chemistry test and hand it to him. I bite my lip and wait for it.

My brother takes the test slowly, his eyes searching for a clue behind the grade. I feel bad I have no good news to give him, especially as I see that some of our bills are stamped in big, red letters: PAST DUE.

He finally says: "I understand."

This is very un-Darry like and I blink. "Can you, uh, repeat that? Because I just want it on record. You know, for future reference."

Darry smiles, half-amused, half-annoyed. Because to him this is not a laughing matter. "I understand. But we'll work through it."

I glance at the bills. "Well, if not, I could always get a job and help you two out."

Darry shuffles the papers together, trying to shield them from me. "Not a chance, kiddo. It's only been a couple of months. You're going to do fine."

_What if I don't? _

Sitting back in my chair, I evaluate my brother's face and our fates. For years, I've been trying to get Darry off my back and now he's so patient it's about killing me… not to mention confusing me. I almost want to ask him what he's smoking. I don't mind it. In fact, I feel as if I can actually talk to him; not shy away. For once I recognize and _know_ my own brother. I drum my fingers on the table. "Darry, what do you want to tell me?"

He pulls back, almost afraid, surprised. Darry tries to smile and fails miserably. Finally, he says, "The state's coming on Thursday."

_And so, the countdown begins. Three days._ I almost want to set a timer, glace at the clock. "I guess this is null and void then?" I crumple the test in my hand, lean back and slam dunk it into the trash.

"It's just a check-up-"

"Darry, I may as well pack my bags right now." They're not coming to 'check-up' on us. My mouth twists into a grimace. "I don't want to go."

I'm not _ready_ to go. I _can't_ go. I can barely function in my own life, let alone being slapped someplace else.

"Ponyboy. I'm going to try very, very hard. If anything happens – and it won't – I'll keep fighting until you're 18. You won't go anywhere. "

This does not reassure me but I keep my face impassive. Everyone promises things they can't keep. It's only a matter of time before the follow through fails.

"Does Soda know?" I ask him.

He nods. "Told him this morning." Darry reaches back and scratches his neck.

A harsh sound comes from my throat as I laugh. "That explains it." Soda had seemed on the verge of wrapping his truck around a tree this morning as he drove off for work.

Darry gives me an odd look before reaching over to ruffle my hair. "Let me worry about it." He pauses; my brother looks so damn worried with those anxious eyes. "How're you feeling, Pone? Any headaches?"

"No, no headaches," I say, and I am so scared.

XXXX

If I knew this was coming, I would have set out running.

Pun intended.

I go back to track practice with my head held high. _So, I nearly passed out on the field in front of all my teammates. So, Steve Randle now knows I can't keep it together. _

Shoot, I've experienced worse.

Pushing aside all my internal warning signs and my team's sympathetic eyes, I stride up to the field. Ever since the accident my whole world has been one never ending "hope-you're-feeling-better" and there is no way in hell I'm giving this up without a fight.

"Curtis!" Coach Quinn exclaims, slapping a meaty palm on my back, which sends me lurching forward. "Glad to have you back."

"Thanks coach." I take my place next to Adam who raises an eyebrow at me. This time we don't banter or egg each other on. We are both waiting to see how I will fare.

We begin the sprint. My legs pump harder than I have ever pushed them, the wind flies across my face. I don't even care that I am beating Adam; that I am faster than everyone. I am just enjoying my…freedom.

And then, this time, I nearly make it around the entire track before my head spins and my vision blurs and then I am down for the count.

My legs give out and I fall to my knees, whiteness clouding my eyes. I rest my head against the ground and try to control my shaking shoulders. "Damn it," I tell the red earth. "God damn it."

I hear gravel crunch and from my hunched over position on the track, I see Coach Quinn's legs hovering in front of me. "Kid," he says, "I really hate to lose you like this-"

I jerk my head up and squint at him, the sun behind his blinding me. Slowly, I stand, brushing my knees off. "Coach, no. I can do-"

"No, Curtis you can't keep trying. You're in no shape for this." Coach Quinn's smile is grim and he wipes a hand down his face. "I shoulda seen that when you came back to school…"

My track team keeps a respectful distance. They know what is coming, as do I. He's going to slam that final nail in my coffin.

At my insistent face, he lowers his voice and steps closer. "You had a good run, Curtis. Be proud of yourself." Quinn grips my shoulder. "Now get your ass to the nurse."

I brush past him, past my team and stalk off down the field.

XXXX

Adam follows me into the locker room.

"You okay?" he asks tentatively as I pull my shirt off and stuff it into my bag.

A clean shirt goes on over my head. "No. I'm not," I say sharply. Leaning against the locker, I look at him and take a breath.

"It's shit, Ponyboy," is all he can say to calm me.

"Yeah. Yeah it is."

Suddenly, I began to burn inside. Whipping around to the locker, I slam my fist against it, the crushing sound of the metal echoing around the room. Breathing heavily, I stare at the dent and the honesty of the situation hits me hard.

I can't run anymore. I can try but I'll just end up gasping and panting on the side of the road. The strength leaves me my anger is replaced by defeat.

Adam raises an eyebrow at me. "You finished?"

I grin half-heartedly and cradle my fist. "That hurt."

"Man, I coulda told you that. Look Pony, just try again next season-" He cuts off as I shake my head and sit down on a bench.

Ignoring my throbbing hand, I pull off my shoes, juggle the weight of them between my palms for a short moment and then my right hand releases the shoes and they sail overhead, landing in the trashcan.

"Forget it. I'm sunk."

XXXX

Our truck is parked outside the fence when I leave the school 20 minutes later. The sun is almost beginning to set, casting a yellowish-blue glow over the field. It is with dim realization that I know I won't be setting foot on the track anytime soon.

"Oh, man," I groan unhappily, wondering which brother waits to give me a lecture about the importance of not keeping secrets.

I cock my head, a small smile erupting despite my embarrassment. Actually, they can't use that excuse anymore; not with the whopper they had been keeping. True, I am being unfair but I am 16 and have just one-upped my older brothers.

Beside me, Adam shifts his weight. "Yeah. The coach called your family."

"Guess he thought he'd spread the good news," I mutter, strolling toward the beat-up truck. Waving goodbye to Adam, I light a smoke and take a long drag before slinging the passenger door open.

Soda jumps. "Glory, Ponyboy! Tryin' to give me a heart attack or somethin'?" He watches as I stand in the doorframe puffing away.

"Why're you here?" I ask carelessly. "Where's Darry?" Lately, words just pop out of my mouth and I don't have time to stop them.

His brow furrows. He and I both realize it is odd that I am asking for Darry. I frown as well. This happens a lot.

And here, on the track field, I finally realize I do blame Soda. My blood turns to antifreeze and I try not to tremble. I blame Soda for the accident, for my horrible health, for my finding out about Parker. It is unreasonable but I realize it is a fact. Some would say I have a right to blame him, but I don't want to. Yet, with the way I have been acting lately, it is obvious how I feel; at least to me. Wincing inwardly, I hope very much not to him.

Soda and I both are trying not to admit that the accident has changed something. He tries too hard while I don't try hard enough. Everything is different and we aren't the same. I don't know when we'll get back to that point, but I hope it's soon.

For both our sakes.

"He couldn't get off work." Soda reaches his arm out and catches the sleeve of my jacket. "Pone, get in the truck."

"I can't run anymore, Soda," I announce bluntly, climbing in.

"Yeah," he says slowly, spreading his long fingers over the steering wheel. "Your coach told me. He also said this wasn't the first time that you passed out. Why didn't you tell me?"

I grit my teeth so hard I think I will break my jaw. "I didn't _pass_ out. I just got dizzy for a few seconds. Jesus, I thought it was just a fluke. Besides, what's that old saying? If at first you don't succeed…?" I give him a small, fake smile.

Soda doesn't smile back. In fact, he doesn't smile much anymore. Damn it. I want my old brother back; I want _my_ old self back.

"I'm sorry, Ponyboy," Soda says earnestly. "So sorry." This word carries so much weight, a heavy burden on both of us.

I grit my teeth and stare out the window for a long, long moment and then I turn and look into his eyes. "Sodapop. Please. Please, don't say that anymore- "

XXXX

_Any more visitors and I think I will lapse into permanent coma. As I tell this to Two-Bit, he looks around wildly, fearful of who has heard. I don't understand why he seems so nervous nor do I care. _

_I am tired and don't fully know what is going on. All I know is that I have barely been awake an hour and I have seen Darry, Two-Bit, Steve, Sodapop, some woman named Marie and my doctor, Dr. Breyers. "Just like the ice cream," he tells me, as if this will make me feel better. _

"_I hate ice cream," I mumble. _

_Darry stands around, hands in pockets, his face a solemn mask. He is in control and I let him be. I don't have the energy to ask questions. Steve sits on the dresser, watching me with apprehension and watching Sodapop with an odd sort of nervousness. "Why're you here?" I ask him drowsily. _

_Two-Bit is busy bugging the doctors and the nurses and trying to entertain me with silly stories. I yawn and touch my head, trying to ignore my dopey friend. "Darry? Why does this hurt?" My voice cracks and I wonder if I have drank a six-pack. For this, I blame Two-Bit. _

"_Just…stay still," my oldest brother tells me. He squeezes my shoulder and leaves the room. I wrinkle my nose and stare at the ceiling, confident that he will fix whatever is wrong with me. _

_The ceiling has a long line etched into it and suddenly the nurse comes and sticks a long needle into my hand. The stinging sensation is not very nice and I do not like anyone in the room for doing this to me. _

_My lids feel heavy and my eyes close. _

_When I awake next, it is dark and silent. I try to move but am held still. Someone grips my right hand like a vice. I turn my head and open my eyes. It is Sodapop. _

"_My brother," I say, laughing. These drugs have made me quite loopy and since I feel as if a Mack truck has run me over, I don't mind it one bit. "Come to say hi?" I drawl. _

"_You bet," he whispers, a ghost of his self. Soda's face is pale, black spots underneath his eyes. His eyes are pained and anxious; he has been waiting for this. _

"_How do you feel, honey?" Soda asks._

"_Groovy." I half-yawn and half-smile. My brain is fuzzy and I randomly say: "Can you come with me?" _

_He seems to wilt at these words but forces out, "Where are you going?" _

_"I don't know. Someplace far." I yawn again. "Why isn't Darry here?"_

_"He's talking to the doctor. He'll be here soon."_

_"S'okay."_

_Soda scoots closer. "Pone…do you know what happened?" _

"_Not so much." I really don't want to have this conversation because I do not know what he means. I am tired and sleepy. My eyelids rest at half-mast and I watch my brother between my slits. _

_Soda rests his head in his hands and tells me that he loves me and that he is so, so very sorry and how he'll never forgive himself. "I'm so glad you're ok," he keeps repeating. "I'm so glad…" _

_Before I drift off to sleep, his hands come out and clutch mine; he leans his head down against the sheets and begins to weep. "Ponyboy, I am so sorry." The sobs come up deep from within and I wish I could tell him it's all right. Everything will be better in the morning. _

_XXXXX_

Too cheesy? Blah! ;) Leave reviews please…it's late but I am awake. Toodles!


	7. Chapter 7

Thanks for all the reviews…! "Please sir, can I have some more?"

Tee hee!

XXXX

i wish i'd see your face below

i wish i'd hear you whispering low

but you don't live downtown no more

and everything must come and go

again the sun was never called

and darkness spreads over the snow

like ancient bruises

i'm awake and feel the ache...

but i wish i'd see a field below...

--Regina Spektor

XXXX

"Curtis, yell if you see anyone coming."

"Sure," I say to Curly Shepard. "I think I can do that." From my vantage point on his car's hood, I stretch and lay back. I stare at the blinking stars and yawn.

I am tired but at least I am out of the house. I met up with Curly earlier in the evening and having nothing better to do, agreed to tag along with him.

Currently, the JD that he is is trying to break into a junkyard and steal random auto parts. "Son-of-a-bitch," he swears under his breath. He sticks a pick into the padlock and twists violently.

I sit up and raise an eyebrow. "You know Curly," I tell him, "All you have to do to open that padlock is bust it with your crowbar there." Amused, I glance over at the pile of tools and weapons he has pulled from his trunk. _Darry would shit a brick if he saw this_, I think.

"Uh huh," he mumbles absentmindedly, still fiddling with the latch. The simple solution goes right through that thick skull of his.

He has not heard me. I smile and try something. "So Curly…did you hear that the state's coming soon? I'll probably be taken to a boy's home…"

Nothing.

"…and end up just like you. Some juvie hood."

Again nothing.

"You're pretty dumb Curly. In fact, I don't really like anything about you. Your car's stupid, your sister's stupid. Tim's the only bright one in your whole family, and even that's a stretch."

A beat and then he turns toward me. "What'd you say about my car?"

I utter a laugh and slide off his hood, scooping up the crowbar. "Give me that." I stick the head of the crowbar under the shackle, position it so the fulcrum has enough power and snap it open with a pop. Somewhat surprised, I let both the crowbar and the padlock drop to the ground. I am lucky it was such a shitty lock.

Impressed, Curly fixes his eyes on me. "Curtis, some nice handiwork you got there."

I raise my hands out to the side. "Yeah, well don't say I never did nothin' for you."

XXXXX

Curly has managed to scavenge mismatched auto parts. I don't have the heart to tell him it's going to look pretty stupid when he pulls up in his black 1960 Ford with a white 1955 Dodge tailfin, a too-small taillight and a motorcycle side mirror.

Steve and Soda have taught me well.

I was right when I said it before: the kid's an idiot.

"I better get home," I tell him as we walk down the sidewalk, restaurants and bars passing us by. It's getting late and I don't want give my brother's any more grief.

"It's only 10:30 man," Curly sneers. "Let's go get stoned or something."

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. "Right. Do what you want. I gotta get-"

I halt at the edge of the parking lot. Curly watches me strangely as I back up. I want to make sure I have just seen what I think I have. There - through the window of Sadie's Bar- is Donald Parker.

He is sitting in a corner booth, the side of his head resting in a propped hand. Parker takes a drink, swirls his glass and then takes another. Three empty glasses adorn the table.

As I stare at him through the glass, my reflection is shocked, furious. "So. He's drinking," I announce aloud. My eyes narrow to slits.

"Good idea," Curly agrees.

"Not for him," I snap.

"Whatever," Curly mutters. I barely notice when he leaves.

I wait outside that bar an hour. In that time span, Parker has had four more drinks. His apology, his letter, means nothing. Nothing to him and nothing to me.

He is a liar and there is no way in hell I'm letting him drive. It's not happening again.

Around 11:30, the bar door smashes open and Parker steps out, swaying and singing softly. It is an old Frank Sinatra song, one my father knew well. He passes me by without seeing and approaches his old busted, dented car.

And then I nearly faint.

_Is that the car? _The_ car?_

"God help me," I whisper, trying to muster energy. Parker gives me that energy when he pulls out a flask and takes a long drink. I shake my head. "Glory."

I step out of the shadows as he fumbles with his car keys. I am not sure what I'm going to do. Grab the keys and toss them down the gutter? He can find them in the morning when he's sober. It's really not my problem.

"You can't drive, man."

Blearily, he tries to focus. He doesn't know who I am. "What's youse talking about? I'm dine and fandy."

My head begins to throb and I hold out my palm. "Just let me have your keys."

Donald Parker grins goofily. "You gonna fight me for 'em?" He dangles the keys in front of my face.

I cock my head and muse that idea. It may not be a bad idea to get a punch or two in. But I dismiss it. That won't help anything. Besides, my hand still hurts from punching that locker.

"No," I say with annoyance. "I'm going to do _this_." I reach out and simply take the keys; after all they are right in front of me.

Instead of being irritated, Parker's smile broadens. _Well, at least he's a happy drunk. _

"Relax, kid. Come on. Have a drink." Before I can jump out of the way, Parker waves his flask at me, whiskey spraying everywhere. He cackles maniacally.

"You're an idiot!" I yell. I am soaked in alcohol. Angered, I shake his keys at him. "Do me a favor. Take these and go drive off a-"

Bright lights cloud my vision. It takes a few moments to realize that I am not falling to the ground. These are…flashlights?

_Shit_, an internal voice says, as two cops stride toward us. Each one has jumped out of a cruiser. One fat, one tall. _Kinda like Laurel and Hardy_, I think with amusement despite the situation.

"We got a problem here, sir?" The fat cop asks, shining his light over at Parker.

Parker nods enthusiastically. "Yup, yessir. This kid stole my keys." He smiles at me as if he has just done me a favor. "Stole 'em right out of my hands. I can't get home. Not at all. Just done and left me here."

"What?" I sputter at the exact same time the fat cop asks, "That true sonny?" The flashlight swings back to me and I squint against the harsh glare.

The flashlight shakes at me again. The younger, much thinner partner steps up and snaps, "Well, answer the question grease."

I stand there, amazed and disgusted. Socy cops. _This works out real great for me_. I haven't liked cops for a long time. Especially since…Dally.

"No. This guy's drunk. I didn't want him to drive. I _took_ his keys. I was gonna give 'em back," I explain lamely. I shut my eyes; even I wouldn't buy this.

The fat cops takes off his hat and scratches his head. "Wellup, let's get you down to the station. Sort out this situation."

I am relieved when Parker and I are loaded into separate cruisers. Because if I did have to ride with him, I would have killed him.

XXXX

The clock above me now reads 1 am.

So much for not worrying my brothers tonight. I have been at the station for 20 minutes, filled out some paper work and waited for the fuzz to do a background check.

Since then, the young cop has taken a obedient Donald Parker to the back of the station to 'cool off'.

I sit in an open cell on a hard cot and think of Dallas. It's a sad thing to associate the cooler with an old friend but it also relieves me. In a strange way.

"Am I under arrest?" I ask the deserted police station. The lack of security amuses me and I briefly contemplate just walking out. My right leg bounces up and down anxiously. The last thing I want to do is spend the night here.

The fat cop, whose name I now know to be Officer Byrd, walks out from around the corner of the hallway. "Ponyboy Curtis, you're clean," he announces, staring at my background check.

I stare at my hands. I want a smoke badly, but unfortunately on the drive over I smoked an entire – my last - pack.

Byrd grunts and waddles across to his desk, tossing the papers on top. He jerks his thumb towards the back of the room. "We're gonna let him sleep it off for the night. As for you…" his beady black eyes focus on me, "I don't like to see young boys drinking…"

_But I wasn't_! I want to yell. Yet, I don't say anything. It will be as useless as arguing with Darry.

"…you was trying to do a decent thing tonight, so I'll cut you some slack. At least one of youse was smart enough not to drive."

"My record thanks you," I say dryly, if not a bit unwisely. I stand up; ready to beat it out of here.

Byrd glares at me a moment. "Kiddo, you're not getting off that easily." He nods at the pay phone hanging on the wall. "Give your parents ring. Explain this to them."

"I get one phone call?" I have always wanted to say this and now it seems I have the perfect chance.

"You get one phone call."

XXXX

Loud footsteps pound down the hallway. I roll off the cot and watch the closed door. I am impressed; it's a 15-minute drive and he has made it here in five. _I never knew you cared_, I think sarcastically.

The door booms open.

"Ponyboy Curtis!" the yell echoes around the police station.

Byrd looks up and smiles at me.

I grin slyly and bound up to greet my maker. "Fancy meetin' you here."

"Kid, what the hell you doing calling me this late? I swear I am gonna break your damned neck-"

"This your brother?" Byrd cuts in.

"Sure is."

Suddenly, Steve has no words. Shocked, he stares at me with wide eyes. I nudge him with my elbow. _Play along_, my grin says.

"I take it this is your _guardian_?" Byrd asks again. After my phone call, I filled him in on the passing of my parents; he filled me in on the particulars of evidence and why Mr. Parker won't be held in the morning. Needless to say, I still dislike cops immensely. Not as much as doctors…but it's a close tie.

Again, Steve says nothing but I continue to grin dopily so Byrd continues, taking this as consent. "Mr. Curtis, your brother was taken in and questioned earlier this evening for harassment and under-age intoxication…"

"You what?" Steve hisses at me and grabs my arm. Obviously, he's not in the greatest of moods since I have called his house and woken him up. I had managed to get past his irate father and then, only when did I say the word 'arrested' did Steve perk up.

Byrd smirks, apparently thinking I will be receiving prompt and accurate punishment. Luckily, the laugh is on him. Steve can't do shit.

Well…strike that. He _can_ tell Darry. But somehow, I think he won't. In a way, he is in a much worse predicament than I am.

Huffing and puffing, Byrd rubs his large belly. "We have, however, decided not to charge him with anything…considering the circumstances." Then Byrd winks at me. I resist the urge to roll my eyes and sigh instead. _Jesus, this guy could be a stand-in for Keystone Kops. _

"Isn't that great, _Darry_?" I intone sarcastically. Byrd doesn't catch this but Steve does. His head whips around so fast I swear I hear bones popping.

"Just swell," Steve mutters, running a hand through his disheveled hair. I think it is the first time I have ever seen it without grease. It is dark and long, almost straw-like. "Can we go?" he snaps at Office Byrd. "I need to get my brother…" Again, he jerks my arm, "…home."

Surprised by Steve's impatient outburst, Byrd stutters, "Of course, sir. I take it you have a lot to discuss. Please, just sign him out." Byrd holds up a pen and a log.

As he takes the pen, Steve hesitates. I know he is thinking of Soda. And evidence is a bitch. But after a second, he scribbles his name down, smacks his hands on my shoulders and shoves me out of the station. "Let's go," he says between clenched teeth.

Almost giddy from my crazy night, I stroll down the steps carelessly. "Glory, Steve. Let me tell you, you need to take lessons from Darry. If Darry was ever _that_ rude, well then I definitely wouldn't be-"

A hard smack on the back of my head stops this thought. "What in the hell were you thinking Ponyboy? Drinking? You smell like a goddamned keg! Do you know what your brothers would do to me if they knew I was here? I mean, shit. Jesus Christ!"

"You didn't have to come," I mutter, rubbing my head sullenly. "You coulda let me rot."

He nods. "I should have. Why didn't you call Two-Bit? Leave me outta this mess." Steve's voice his harder than his eyes but all of a sudden I sigh, embarrassed.

Truth delivers.

A warm flush spreads across my cheeks. "I couldn't remember his number," I whisper. Steve clears his throat and shifts awkwardly.

I stare at him, Steve stares at me, as we stand on the steps of the police station. "Ponyboy, please tell me – just so I know what I get my ass chewed out for later - what _did_ happen tonight?"

My voice is soft and hoarse as I say: "Parker happened. He was going to drive and I was trying to stop him. As simple and as stupid as that."

"He's in there?" Steve's face clouds over and he turns to look back at the ancient building.

"Yep. Sleepin' off a hangover. That is until next time."

Steve can't come up with a witty retort for that one, so he settles for hooking his thumbs around his belt loops and heading for his truck, which is parked next to a fire hyrdrant. I follow.

"I thought you didn't need my help, smart ass." Steve lights a smoke and climbs into the driver's seat.

"Steve," I say, tugging my door shut, "of course I needed your help. It involved hubcaps didn't it?"

XXXX

I tried to edit as best as I can tonight…so be gentle.


	8. Chapter 8

Please read and review!!!

XXXX

I want to be forgotten,

And I don't want to be reminded.

You say, "Please don't make this harder."

No, I won't yet.

-The Strokes

XXXX

The night before social services comes, I dream again. Only this time, it's not the same.

XXXX

_"Honey?" My mother asks me. "Do you want to come?" She leans over me, her long auburn hair dripping down her face._

_"Where are you going?" I ask, pulling myself out of my bed. I stand and stretch. My feet touch the shaggy, brown carpet. _

_Her eyes meet mine. "On a trip. A very long trip. I just know you want to come." _

_Something says no, but I say yes. "Sure." After all, what's the harm? I haven't been on a vacation in a long time. I'm looking for a brand new destination. _

_Her smile lights up the room and I follow her; again it's so much like Soda's I just have to go. I go out through my room, down the hall. My hand closes over the slippery front door knob._

_The smell of fire is in the air, the smell of dampness. It is cold and I shake. I wish I had remembered my jacket. _

_Bare feet pad against grass. It is a relief to be outside. I have escaped._

_"Pony?" She says, calling me back. "Are you coming?" _

_I nod and speed up._

_"Follow me then." My mom - Laura - runs across the white snow. She laughs, the sound echoing in the cool night air. It is then that I hesitate. This is not right. Her laugh does not sound normal. _

_"What's wrong?" Her hands rest on her hips as she spins around to me._

_Squinting at her, I raise my hands in front of my face. "The light, it's so bright." My world lights up, flooded by a brilliant yellow. _

_She scoffs. "Of course it isn't. Everything is dark." She gives me a look. "How are you feeling these days?" _

_I want to ask her what she is talking about. A bright light is very clearly coming my way. It burns my eyes. _

"_Mom," I say and stick my hands out, "The light-"_

XXXXX

The light is headed straight towards me. "Jesus Christ!" I cry, jumping back, away from the oncoming car.

The car emits a strangled honk, waking me up out of my trance. The driver slams on the breaks, skidding onto the opposite curb. A bedraggled man scrambles out of the car. "Holy shit, boy!" he yells at me. "What in sweet mother of God are you doing out here?"

"I'm-I'm-" My mouth flaps open in confusion. _What the hell _am_ I doing out here_?

He yells at me again. "Don't you check when you cross the street? Didn't your mama ever teach you that? Stop, look and listen?"

Apparently not.

"I'm sorry, sir," I explain, "I must've had a nightmare…" My teeth begin chattering and I know my situation is pretty desperate when I have to explain my problems to a total stranger.

Suddenly, I notice that I am barefoot. It is the middle of October. Snow has begun to fall, coating the road in a slick mess. Winter – coldness – has come early this year.

The man purses his lips and frowns, suddenly calm. "Well, hell boy. You better get inside make sure you don't freeze to death." He climbs into his car and with a swift rev of the engine is gone.

I watch the trail of exhaust spew out and without thinking sit down on the curb. Sticking my legs out in the street, I lean back and exhale loudly.

_Since when do I sleepwalk? _

_I guess since now_, another voice answers_. Get used to it._

Time passes until the stars move and my lids begin to droop. Yet, I do not want to go back inside and fall asleep. I do not like seeing my mom in my dreams; she is alien, foreign.

A person I never got the chance to know.

Until now.

XXXXX

My feet pound the pavement, sneakers thumping against gravel and slush as I speed down the alleyway three blocks away from my house.

I turn the corner sharply, nearly slipping. I recover and try to keep a steady pace. I see my house, Darry's truck in the driveway.

"Kid! Ponyboy!" The voice comes from behind me. In the middle of our street, I skid to a halt and turn around to meet the familiar, albeit wheezing, voice.

"Hold up!" Two-Bit gasps, clenching his side as he jogs up to me. "God almighty, kid. You're fast."

Not as fast as I could be. If I really wanted to run like the wind, I could. I do just not need a headache at the moment.

I eye him with amusement and keep walking. "You're out of shape."

Two-Bit affects wounded pride, hurrying to keep up with me. "Now is that any way to talk to an elder?"

Laughing, we both begin a slow pace back to my house, keeping time with each other's footsteps. "Why're you running?" Two-Bit asks.

"Habit. Why're you following me?"

He touches his temple. "An innate sense for trouble."

We reach my yard, Two-Bit leans on the mailbox and I pull out a carton of cigarettes. I flick my lighter open, the bluish-red flame dancing in front of my face. I light the smoke and take a long drag.

Two-Bit is watching me carefully. "What?" Briefly, I wonder if Steve has told him about the other night. I highly doubt it; Steve is not one to spread gossip and Two-Bit is not one to keep it.

"Nothing."

"Darry's not going to let you come in," I tell him. "No offense. Just not today."

He shuffles his feet and shrugs casually. "Yeah, I know. Wasn't expectin' to." His gray eyes smile at me, his long sideburns reminding me of a cowboy in a western. "I just wanted to come by and wish you luck."

I choke on my cigarette smoke. "Thanks." My voice is dry, cracked glass.

Two-Bit opens and shuts the mailbox door once or twice and then nods at me. "Don't worry, kiddo. Things are gonna turn out A-ok." His thumb and pointer finger come together to form an "O" and he moves to leave.

"And if they don't?" I call out.

Nothing bothers Two-Bit. "We'll worry about that if it happens." He doesn't turn back but I know he is smiling; it's in his voice.

Grateful for the "we" I smile, tossing my smoke in the damp, dead grass and stroll inside.

I glance at the clock as I cross the room. I am late. Actually, Two-Bit has made me late by _Darry's_ standards. In truth, I am 30 minutes early. "Hey Darry," I call out loudly, trying to lessen the already palpable stillness.

Darry doesn't reply, instead choosing to slam the laundry cabinet shut angrily to get his point across. The washing machine lid is the next to go.

I rub my cold hands together and lean back against wall, knowing Darry has been cleaning all afternoon. Darry always cleans before social services come. Somehow I doubt Spic and Span will change their minds.

Darry walks out of the laundry room and looks at me. He is dressed in nice slacks and a collared shirt. Glancing down at my jeans and t-shirt, I suddenly feel very sloppy.

"You're late."

"Yeah," I agree, even though I am not. "I'm real sorry, Darry."

After coming home from the police station at nearly two in the morning the other night, I had expected a full-scale assault as soon as I stepped foot in the house. Darry, nodding off in his chair, had woken as soon as I entered, stood up and glared at me.

But he didn't yell. Instead he seethed silently. Then, all he said was, "You're home. And not in a ditch." He shut his eyes and then opened them. "Get your ass to bed." Then he turned on his heel and went to his own room, while I stood there feeling incredibly guilty and relieved at the same time.

And so, by way of an apology, I agree with my brother. "Is Soda here?" I ask.

"No," Darry says curtly. "He's late too."

"He'll be here," I murmur and sit myself on the couch. I can't start homework, watch TV, cook dinner. I can't focus when I'm not sure where I'll be in an hour or so. But I don't say this to my brother.

"Relax, kiddo," Darry says, hovering between the kitchen and me.

"Only if you do," I retort.

He smiles slightly. "Fat chance." Darry hesitates, as if he has something to say and then needing to keep himself busy, moves into the kitchen. "Let me know when Soda gets here, will ya?"

_Believe me, you'll hear him_. Soda can never keep an entrance to himself.

I watch Darry for a moment and then swing myself around on the couch. I rest my elbows on the back edge of the couch's cushions and part the window blinds. The neighborhood is drab and gray. Tiny flakes of snow float to the ground, disappearing before they stick.

Perhaps foolish, I play a game with myself. _The first person to pull in – Sodapop or Patty Strickland – decides my fate._ This makes me feel slightly better but not much.

My head hurts and I run my hands through my hair, willing the throbbing to go away. I was not even aware that it had begun. I have not used enough hair grease today and my hair falls in my eyes, which I hastily shove away.

"It's not fair," I declare to the windowpane.

I press my fingertips against the cold glass, my prints lingering and then fading away. I wrinkle my nose and sigh heavily. I hate social workers. I hate the white, vans they drive, ready to load and unload. The pens they use to record fact and fiction.

And the accusing eyes that my brothers should never be looked at with.

Soda's not here yet and that worries me. Generally, he's late by nature, but it's not like him to take his time on a day like today. Unnerved, I look up and glance at the clock-

XXXX

_The clock keeps a beat. Its repetitive ticking almost soothing, lulling. _

_I breathe. I take one breath and I am here. It's as if I have resurfaced from a deep, dark pool._

_I am awake. Again._

_Slowly, I manage to open my eyes. A stark white ceiling greets me; despite the fact that ceilings all tend to look alike, I know I am not in my bedroom._

_I have seen Soda a day ago. Frowning, I try to think clearly. _Or was it today?_ I cannot organize my thoughts so I settle for watching the ceiling._

_The doctors tell me I have no brain damage. As far as they can tell. Their diagnosis brings no relief to my brother's but I couldn't care less. Everything is vaguely fuzzy and I just want nothing but sleep. _

_The door creaks open and a blonde woman steps in. Curious, I struggle to sit up, propped by my elbows._

_She is not a nurse. She wears a dark blue suit, blonde hair in a loose bun. The woman closes my door with a quiet click. _

_"How're you feeling?" She smiles at me. "Ponyboy."_

_"I don't know." I laugh feebly. "I really can't remember." Then my instincts kick in – she looks too socy, too business-like to be here - and I ask: "Who are you?"_

_"I'm Patty Strickland. CPS." The woman makes the word sound so innocuous I almost believe her. _

_Almost._

_"What do you want?" I snap, frowning. It makes no sense why Darry wouldn't be here, why Soda wouldn't be here. It begins to dawn on me that maybe they don't know. _

_"I just want to ask you a few questions about your home life." Welcoming herself, Patty slides into a chair next to my bed and pulls out a notepad. "It's important that we do this, a precaution of sorts. You did have a major accident with-." _

_My eyes narrow and I try to rally, despite my increasing fatigue. "I'm not talking to you." _

_"Now, Ponyboy. This will go a lot better if you just cooperate." She sounds as if she is ripping off a band-aid and I just need to suck it up. "It's essential that we identify any possible child maltreatment-"_

_"Look lady. I don't feel so hot and I don't want to talk to you. So leave me alone." _

_Despite interrupting her twice, Patty ignores me and pushes on. "Have your brothers ever behaved roughly with you? Shoved, hit you?" _

_"No and no." My face is cloudy as I glower at her. I'm not saying anything else. Giving her any ammunition. _

_Pursing her lips, she looks again at those damn notes of hers. "Uh huh. Let's go back a year, can we? Tell me about the night your friends died. A Jonathan Cade and a Dallas Winston? You received a concussion that day as well."_

_I pale, my stomach plummeting to my feet. Patty's mouth is still moving but I don't hear any sound. Time slows. My face is on fire. "I'm going to throw up," I tell her. Seeing no trashcan by my side, I make my legs move and scramble out of bed clumsily. The IV rips out of my hand. _

That's gonna leave a mark_, I think dopily. _

_"Oh!" Patty utters softly, jumping out of her chair back. Guess she hasn't expected this. It wasn't a bluff. _

_I barely make it to the in-room sink before everything – which is pretty much nothing – comes up. My shoulders shake as my empty stomach heaves over the sink. _

I should've aimed for her shoes_, I think miserably as my stomach churns once more. _

_Colors blur and I grip the sides of the sink fiercely. If I let go, I will fall on my ass. My head hurts and I am very aware that I should not have left the bed. _

_"Are you ok?" she says with surprising compassion. _

"_I'll be fine when you leave. Please just go," I say quietly. We stare at each other for a strained moment before the door swings open, revealing Darry and Sodapop._

_"Oh, hey," I drawl._

_They are startled, not expecting me to be awake or out of bed. Soda drops his coffee. The drink hits the ground, splattering everywhere. The black liquid staining their shoes, the tile._

_"What're you doing up?" Darry nearly yells. That's when he notices Patty Strickland in the corner of the room. Darry's blue eyes widen and Soda goes gray. _

"_What are you doing here?" Darry roars. This time, _my_ eyes widen. I guess catching Darry off guard leaves no time for him to compose his self._

_If Patty Strickland were a man, Darry's fist would be hitting his face right about now. I fear the worst from this. Not for Patty Strickland, or for me but for my brother's. _

_They are about to shit themselves. _

_This is semi-amusing and in my dope-filled daze I utter a short, raspy laugh, this causes my brothers to forget about the intruder in my room. My laugh - this small but draining motion - causes my grip to loosen and before I can hit the floor, Soda grabs me, wrapping an arm around my waist. "I got you. You shouldn't be up," he admonishes gently. Although, I can feel his anger simmering beneath his calm surface. _

_"I had to vomit," I inform him promptly. "Soda. I don't feel good." _

_Because I am so miserable, this is the only time I will admit it. _

_"Oh, Pony," Soda says unhappily helping me climb back into bed. Darry watches us the entire time. _

_I yawn and rub the spot on my hand where the IV has been ripped out of. "I didn't know that she-"_

"_Shhh." Soda feels my forehead, cups my cheek and pushes my hair back. Three simple motions to quiet me. Then he turns to Patty Strickland. "Get. Out. Of. Here." His voice is soft but lethal. _

_"Leave now," Darry warns. "Before I have you arrested." _

_"Fine," Patty squeaks and edges herself out of the corner she has painted herself in. "But you can't put this off forever." With a final look at me she leaves. _

_"I think that went well," I tell my brother's-_

_XXXX_

My brother's car is not the first to round the corner. The white van is. They are early. But it doesn't matter because Soda is not here. He is late.

XXXX

Next chapter coming soon! Sorry-I hope this is not too drawn out…because I still have lots to write. Blah! ;)

Please review!!


	9. Chapter 9

Yes, I know the last chapter ended on a cliffy and could have been continued…but I just wanted a fresh start. ;) At least it wasn't a long wait! Leave reviews pretty please!

XXXX

_I: In Alchemy, Nigredo, or blackness, means putrefaction or decomposition._

XXXX

I sit across from Patty Strickland and another social worker named Kenneth Christopher, who does most of the talking. Kenneth has a low, soothing voice and I find myself not hating him as much as Patty. Perhaps she has brought him as a bodyguard - to protect her against my brothers.

I think: _Why in the world would my brother's have a problem with Patty Strickland? She only broke into my hospital room when I was critically ill. No big deal._ My social commentary gets the job done and I laugh inwardly.

After a few pleasantries and introductory bullshit, the social workers finally get down to business.

"Ponyboy," Kenneth is asking me, "do you feel comfortable in here?"

We sit at the kitchen table, the four of us. My hands are folded together, resting tightly on the tabletop. Darry grips his mug of coffee as if it were a life preserver. Everything is so formal; it just makes everything worse. No one wants to slip up.

"Yes sir," I say politely. I smile to make my point.

Patty glances at Darry. "Can you possibly excuse yourself for a moment? We'd like to speak to your brother alone. Exclude any…interferences."

A muscle in Darry's jaw twitches. It softens when he looks at me. "Sure. I'll be in the-"

"God damn, Darry I am so sorry I'm late!" Soda hollers, clambering in.

Darry's mortified eyes meet my exasperated ones. Soda has made his entrance well known.

He tosses his coat and keys on the floor and runs into the kitchen. "Are they here yet? Are they-" He skids to a stop, seeing the four of us. "Oh. Hi."

"Hello," Kenneth says pleasantly enough. Patty settles for sipping her coffee.

Darry stands up and takes Soda's elbow. "C'mon Soda. They want to talk to Ponyboy."

Soda shoots me a pleading look. "But-"

"_C'mon, Soda_." Darry leads my harried brother out of the room. I imagine Soda is feeling something like being late for the first day of class. You have just missed what you need to know for the entire year.

In the living room, Darry and Soda are speaking in hushed whispers. I wish I knew what they were saying; it'd be a whole lot more interesting than this. Kenneth clears his throat. "Now Ponyboy…as we were saying…" He slides out a tape recorder, sets it on the table and turns it on. I shift nervously.

Patty jumps in. "Do you feel safe here?"

"Yes."

"I know you may be scared to tell us the truth…but have they ever hit you? Abuse is a serious thing, Ponyboy. I know you love your brothers but we're here to help…"

My hands come apart and I rest the palms on the cool surface of the table, ready to make my plea. "Look. I told you before-" I look at Patty pointedly, "You saw in the hospital, they treat me great."

Patty stares at me, unyielding. Ignoring her, I turn to Kenneth. "This is my home. My brothers…do so much for me. If anything, I'm the one who causes the trouble." I try to smile nonchalantly.

"Did they tell you that?" Kenneth interrupts gravely. "That you cause trouble?"

My heart sinks; I begin to fear I have just screwed us royally. "What-? No, I didn't mean-"

Kenneth takes his job seriously. Unlike Patty, he wants to do good. He means no harm. Kenneth leans across the table, his glasses sliding down his nose. "Son, it will be hard for a while, but this may be the best thing." He shuts my case file.

My eyes widen at this simple yet prophetic act.

It is then I know they have already made up their minds. Their visit was pointless, a cruel trick for all of us.

"Darry!" I suddenly yell, fear building in my stomach.

Darry and Soda both walk in. Soda is still in his DX outfit, coated in oil and smelling of car fumes.

Kenneth takes a deep breath. "Mr. Curtis," says to Darry, "this home visit is not just to re-assess the living situation. We have already re-assessed the situation. Past visits, hospital records, police records they say a lot." He glances at me apologetically.

"I wasn't aware of Ponyboy having any police record, " Darry says slowly, his eyes narrowing and darting to me. Darry does not like surprises. Especially when it comes to social services.

"Well it's not a record," Kenneth begins, "he was detained the other night…"

I sink lower into my chair, my hand covering my eyes. Right now, I am more humiliated than afraid. The secret is about to be spilled.

Patty is gleefully enraged. "Why deny it? We have your signature." She holds up a piece of paper – a copy of the log sheet. Patty says to Kenneth, "I told you, they're uncooperative and -"

"Who employs you?" Soda sputters, finally breaking his silence. Absurdly, I have a clear vision of a fighting Sodapop and Sandy. "The loony bin? Because lady, I swear-"

"Enough!" Darry and Kenneth snap in unison. They stare at each other awkwardly, not used to uniting with the other side. Soda falls silent; I bite my lip in amazed horror.

"Let me see this," Darry says, taking the log sheet from Patty's outstretched hand.

He scans it a moment. "I didn't sign this." He hands it to my brother. "Soda?" By his flat tone, he believes Soda and I are in cahoots.

Soda scans it absentmindedly, and then just before he is about to hand it back to Darry, his dark brown eyes snap back to the page. "Wait."

I suddenly affect interest in an imaginary piece of lint on my sleeve.

"Steve signed this," Soda says in a dead voice. Soda knows his best friend's handwriting. The S that looks like a deformed X. The chicken scratch that Soda has tried to forge time and time again. He knows it.

"Steve?" Darry looks at me sharply and then back to Soda. "You didn't know about this."

"No. I didn't."

"Irregardless," Kenneth says, holding up a hand, "the point is clear that you both don't have time to keep track of your brother. Either you're unwilling or unable."

"No, sir…" Darry tries to have his say.

My chair clatters back, I am on my feet.

"Based on these risk factors," Kenneth continues, his voice staccato. "I'm sorry to say this, but we are assuming guardianship. Effective today." The tape recorder is turned off with a click.

Soda places a shaky hand against the counter to steady his self.

"Please, get your things," Patty Strickland suggests kindly.

"Oh no, no, no," I begin to moan, wishing I could run out of the house and never look back. I turn to my brother. "Darry?"

He steps in front of me, his arm creating a protective barrier between the social workers and me. "Sir, he has doctor's appointments and school and-"

Patty shrugs her jacket on. "Don't worry. We'll make sure his needs are met."

"I'm sorry," Kenneth reiterates, also standing.

"Pone," Darry puts his hands on my shoulders, holding on firmly. His face is ashen. "You need to go-"

I look around desperately, trying to claw onto some semblance of hope. Nothing is turning out right. I feel as if I am ten years old again, scared and young. "Darry. Darry, but you said-"

Darry grasps for the right words, promises he can actually keep this time. But what can he say? "Ponyboy…I'll…I'll…"

Stricken, I pull back. _This is not happening. This is not happening_.

"Fine, I'll go pack," I say numbly.

"I'll help you." Soda says quietly, recovering from his shock.

"No." I brush past him. "I don't want your help."

Inside our room, I begin to cry, hot tears running down my face. I brush them away angrily and dig my old suitcase out from underneath the bed. I don't even bother to take the time and care to pack. The longer I delay, the worse it will be.

Instead, I take out my drawers of clothes and dump them into the suitcase. I can't remember where my drawings or pictures are so I toss a few books – including _Gone with the Wind_ - on top of the pile of clothes and slam it shut.

"I'm done," I announce, entering the living room.

Soda stops mid-pace. He is smoking in the house. Apparently, all protocol has gone out the window. "Already? You barely-"

"It doesn't matter. I'll be back soon," I say with assurance I don't feel. Because, I can already see the guilt and stress that has begun to pile on Darry's shoulders.

Darry swallows thickly and takes my bag from me. "I'll be getting a lawyer," he tells Kenneth and Patty.

"Of course," Kenneth agrees. "We'll schedule you a hearing within the week. Please remember, this situation is only temporary. Until then, please be aware that for the first two weeks of separation there is not any in-person contact. You can however, speak over the phone at the allotted hours."

I pale. "What?" I nearly yell. The news just keeps getting worse and worse.

Patty opens the front door. "It's just for two weeks – to help you settle in."

Soda suddenly grabs me and pulls me into a fierce hug. "I love you. Be good. Be _safe_." He kisses my forehead. I can tell he is waiting until I am gone to cry.

"I'll figure this out, Ponyboy." Darry hugs me too; I try to find the energy to return the hug. Just thinking five minutes into the unknown future scares the hell out of me. It's odd realizing your worst nightmare is finally coming true.

"I know you will." I grin weakly and try to think of a final goodbye.

It is silly. Until today, Donald Parker and my brother's secret had made up the most of my worries. Shoot, Parker was just the tip of the iceberg. I have a whole new set of problems.

Patty clears her throat, eliciting a glare from all of us, even Kenneth.

"Ready son?" Kenneth asks gently, prodding me out the front door. He takes my bag from Darry, an overt hint at them to not follow. Probably from his experience it usually makes things worse. Harder.

"So, aren't you gonna cuff me?" I snap and hold out my hands as we walk down the porch steps.

Darry makes to follow us, groaning unhappily at my words. "Ponyboy…"

"This isn't prison," Patty says testily. Ahead of us, I see the white van.

"Could have fooled me."

XXXXX

I have been in the Tulsa Home for Boys for about a week and a half. The old, brick building is in downtown Tulsa, settled squarely between an alleyway and the DMV. Two fine additions to society.

It is better than I expected it to be. For this I should be glad.

No one yells or hits, – From word of mouth, I know which guards to avoid - I get three square meals a day, – despite the crappy food – and school isn't so bad either. At least it's a momentary distraction for a few hours.

All in all, it's not the hell I anticipated.

And when it comes to hearing some of the horror stories the other boys tell me about their families, I almost feel like a shit. They are glad to be here, thankful that they are not being hit…touched.

But _I_ don't like being here. I am not glad. I miss Darry and Soda so badly it hurts to think about them. I'm like an innocent on death row. They've got the wrong kid.

The first three nights I woke up screaming, earning me dirty stares and whispers from the other boys in the room. At night, everyone cries secretly, silently. But I have crossed the boundary where I have shared my problems. _That_ is not wanted.

After that, I went to the nurse. I couldn't stand not having anyone to wake me up and settle me down.

"I need sleeping pills," I mumbled.

"For what?" She asked, looking at me through huge coke bottle glasses.

"Nightmares. I have a prescription. Check with my doctor. Doctor Rice." I crossed my arms and waited. The nurse called and I got those pills. I wonder if Darry was informed. But I doubt it.

But the worst part, the very worst part, is not being able to see my brothers. Not knowing what is going on back home. Feeling as if life is moving on without me; that _they_ are moving on without me.

Yet, this feeling is my fault. I have created it and am content to keep it.

After the hearing, the judge made it mandatory that I stay at the boy's home until they see fit to release me into Darry's custody.

Time span indefinite. Ponyboy Curtis panicked.

After that, I just shriveled up and died. Like I did in the months following Johnny and Dallas's deaths. Simply put, I am throwing a pity party for myself. I have not spoken to my brother's for a week. I just hope they know my thoughts are with them.

A knock at the door. Billy Cooper sticks his head in. At least I think his name is Billy. He is one of the kids who has told me which guards to avoid and to always address them by, "Sir".

"Ponyboy Curtis," Billy says in that soft, drawling voice of his. "You have a phone call."

I roll over onto my side and glance at the clock. 2:00. Peak telephone hours. "Tell them I'm asleep."

"Sure." He disappears to do my dirty work. Billy and I aren't exactly friends, but he doesn't laugh when I have nightmares and that makes up for a lot.

Billy is back moments later, opening the door and stepping in a bit more. "Pony. Ponyboy," he says earnestly. "Don't kill the messenger, but this guy sounds really pissed. He told me to tell you that if you're not on the phone in 10 minutes he's going to ground your ass."

_Yep. That's Darry_, I think and really wish he could follow through with his threat.

I grin slightly at the yellowed wall and roll off my bed. "Thanks, Billy."

"It's Timmy," he tells me.

I grimace at my mistake and run a hand through my hair. "Sorry."

"Shoot, don't be. My old man thinks my name is "asshole". Billy's a nice change." He opens the door for me and lets me pass.

Walking down the hall, I take a left and move into the communal room. This is where we get our phone calls and visitors. The walks are painted yellow, the ceiling a blue sky and white clouds. They think this is cheery but it really reminds us of what we are missing outside.

Plopping down into an oversized chair, I hesitate a second before picking up the lime-green phone. "Hey, Darry."

"Goddamn it, Ponyboy," Darry exhales. "I've been calling for a week straight. We've been worried sick. You can't do this to us anymore."

Blankly, I stare at the floor. "Sorry," I mumble.

Darry chooses to ask the obvious, while there is clearly a whole lot more we have to talk about. "How are you?" he asks in a soft voice, which I can barely hear over the din coming from the phone. He is on his lunch break; I can hear the clatter of tools and men shouting in the background.

"Oh, it's just swell here, Darry," I say sarcastically. "If it weren't for the security guards and shitty food, it could almost pass for home." I lean back in my chair and scowl at some kid playing Solitaire.

Darry is quiet for a long second and then he sighs. "I know it's hard, kiddo."

"I'm just alone."

"No, you're not," he says firmly. "Soda and I, we're right here with you. We can see you in a few days."

My fist tightens its grip on the receiver. I've never felt so wicked as when I say: "Darry, maybe we're all better off. Now you can go back to school, quit workin' two jobs. Without me to feed, not to mention take to doctor's appointments, you'll both be rollin' in the dough."

Darry's voice is deathly. "I'm going to pretend you didn't say that. But just for the record Ponyboy, don't you ever think you don't matter."

I frown at the disgusting, grimy tile. Talking to Darry brings everything back and I remember why I didn't want to talk to him – any of them - in the first place. Suddenly, I miss my school, my brothers, my friends…my normalcy.

I can't take it anymore. The false reassurances, the sympathy.

"But that doesn't matter Darry! Nothing matters when I'm here."

And so, I hang up on my brother.

XXXXX

Just a note: I don't know anything about CPS rules or living arrangements. But I have tried to do my best.

_Will our hero make it out of his den of despair? Will he fall harder? Will Patty Strickland get hit by a bus? Stay tuned for the next nail-biting installment!_

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	10. Chapter 10

The two-week trial period is over.

Unenthusiastically, I scan the common room for my first visitors. I balk; it is not Darry and Soda. Surprisingly, it is Two-Bit and Steve.

They stand as I cross the room slowly. "Hey guys," I say hesitantly. "What are you doing here?"

Their eyes widen in shock at my appearance but they recover quickly. I know I don't look so hot; I can barely stand the sight of myself anymore. Good sleep is a rarity. The sleeping pills keep away the nightmares, but I still toss and turn every night.

Right now I'm pretty much surviving on sleeping pills and cigarettes.

"Is that any way to greet your old pals?" Two-Bit scoffs half-heartedly. Shooting me a smile, he hugs me while Steve settles for a nod. They sit down on the couch and I take a spot across from them in a plastic chair.

"You look like shit kid," Steve tells me bluntly.

"Steve," Two-Bit hisses, elbowing him. "Knock it off."

"Well, he does," Steve hisses back.

I raise my hand. "Um, hello? I _am_ in the room."

Two-Bit smiles ruefully. "Sorry, kid. But you do look a little peaked." His voice turns concerned. "Ain't you been eating?"

"The food here's disgusting. How've _you_ been?" I ask, eager to take some of the attention off myself.

"Can't complain. Yep, still livin' the single life." Two-Bit stretches exaggeratedly, pleased with himself.

"Still jobless too," Steve mentions with a grin.

Awkward silence settles around us as Steve and Two-Bit's witty banter drops off. No one can think of anything to say. We've known each other our entire lives but a foreign environment leaves us tongue-tied.

But then again, I don't have any happy updates for them.

This sure ain't camp.

"Darry and Soda'll be here later. They have to work until three." Two-Bit explains. "We got first dibs on you."

Smiling slightly, I turn my head as Timmy Cooper walks in. He joins a man I take to be his father in another corner of the room. His eyes are scared as he sits down. My own eyes narrow as I recognize the face of so many from our neighborhood.

"How's Soda?" I ask Steve, bringing my attention back. Steve shifts, surveying the room. I cock my head. "What?"

"I wouldn't know. He's not talking to me." Steve meets my gaze point-blank.

Wide-eyed, I gawk at him. "Really?"

Two-Bit laughs and slaps his leg. "Oh man, if you think Darry Curtis can yell, you should've seen Sodapop. He-" Two-Bit stops at Steve's scowl.

"Glad I can provide you with such amusement," Steve says heatedly, truly bothered by his best friend's silence. "I told him about Parker and the fuzz and he nearly blew a gasket," Steve continues. "They both did."

I bite my lip and say those four little words I never would have thought I'd ever say: "Steve…I'm…really…sorry."

"Aw hell, kid," Steve swears. "Who knew Soda would have held such a grudge?"

The next question I have for him is on the tip of my tongue, but he answers it before I can ask it. "What about work?"

"Yeah."

"He didn't quit if that's what you're wonderin'. Boss switched our shifts." Then, Steve's face lightens and he waves me off. "Make it up to me by getting your ass home. I swear it's like a goddamn morgue around your house."

I am about to open my mouth to ask about Darry when a sharp _CRACK_ echoes around the room. Whipping my head around, I see Timmy holding his cheek. His father stands over him screaming, "You little asshole! If you can't grow up and get it together, well so help me God!" He grabs Timmy's arm.

The room falls silent. Other parents cover their mouths, other boys averting their gazes.

All of a sudden, I see Johnny in Timmy's wide, dark eyes. The security guards are hurrying over but I do too. Steve tries to grab my arm as I jump up. "Stupid shit," he curses as I evade his grip.

"C'mon," I say to Timmy, gesturing that he should follow me.

Unsure, Timmy looks from me to his father to the security guards. "Sir, sir," they babble, "please step back."

Timmy's dad wrenches free of one of the security guards and shoves me roughly. I trip over Timmy who steadies me. "Mind your damn business, you little shit."

A hand pulls me away from the older man. "Don't you touch him. Either of them," Two-Bit furiously warns Timmy's father, who is now safely restrained by the security guards.

As Two-Bit leads Timmy and me away, my face burns. I really wanted to yell at that man.

"Wow. Never seen that before," I joke weakly to Timmy.

"First time for everything," he retorts.

We begin laughing as Steve and Two-Bit watch, both looking increasingly ill as Timmy and I continue chuckling at the unnerving situation that has just occurred.

Timmy suddenly cuts off, his face haunted. "I hate him."

I nod. "I know you do."

XXXXX

Five hours later, I am back in the room.

This time, I sit on the couch waiting for my brothers. _Maybe they won't come. Maybe they forgot_, I think semi-hopefully, semi-sadly flipping through a magazine. I smoke my cigarette down to its end and re-light another one.

I am so deep in thought, I barely notice them standing in front of me. "Pone?" Darry's deep voice says.

Blinking, I look up and suddenly find myself in Soda's arms. "Hmph. Hey Soda," I say, my voice muffled by his shoulder. My cigarette falls to the floor.

We pull apart. Soda tries to smile but it doesn't reach his eyes. "God, I've missed you." He ruffles my hair.

Darry steps in, hugging me sideways. Shocked, I squirm out of his grasp, seeing what he has been trying to shield. His right hand is wrapped and bandaged in a cast. "Darry, what happened?"

Embarrassed, Darry shakes his head. "I broke it."

I raise an eyebrow. "On what? At work?"

"No," Soda begins slowly, ignoring Darry's warning glance. "On the wall at home. After the hearing."

"Oh." I wince. "That must've hurt." I try to imagine the hole that is now in one of our walls. I stare at my cigarette on the floor. The embers have died.

Darry is the next to speak as he and Soda take a seat on the couch. "Pone, are you ok? Do you need anything?"

I sit down opposite them in the hard plastic chair. "Just tell me when I can go home," I nearly whine. Then, without waiting for an answer – because I know there isn't one - I turn to Sodapop and try to do damage control. "I hear you're not talking to Steve."

Soda flushes angrily. "When did you see him?"

"Today. Him and Two-Bit came earlier." Soda frowns and I hurry to continue. "Look, I called him that night, he didn't want to come."

Soda stares at the opposite wall, his eyes flashing back to me. "He should have told me." He gestures to Darry. "Told _us_. I don't understand how Steve could have been so careless."

I shut my eyes briefly. _Please stop. Please._

The weight of everything is beginning to build and that thin thread of rationality holding me together is going to split at any moment.

Soda had better stop talking right now. Before I say something I regret. Because even though I may not mean it, I currently feel it.

"It's not his fault I'm here!" I exclaim suddenly, shocking Soda into silence. Cruelly, I snap, "Stuff happens. As you know."

Soda goes ashen at the reference.

Darry shifts uncomfortably and then says to me in a low, stern voice, "Taking this out on your brother won't help, Ponyboy."

Frustrated and ashamed, I lean back, cross my arms and mutter, "Sure. Take his side." I should have expected this.

Sighing, Darry rubs his eyes. "I'm not taking sides. I know it's difficult being here…" Darry struggles for words, "…but you can't push us away. We're worried about you, about the headaches, about the nightmares-"

"Darry," I jump in. "We just gotta talk about something else besides this place," I implore him desperately.

Darry and Soda lock worried eyes.

I must look as if I will bolt from the chair, from the room, because Soda takes my hand, stilling me. "Sure, of course Ponyboy. Whatever you want."

XXXX

Nothingness. That is what I awake to, but I am still screaming. Timmy sits up in his bed as I clap my hands across my mouth. The other boys in the room are still asleep; I must not have been hollering that long. Or that loud.

My hands flutter to my temples where I try to still the pounding in my head. I don't remember any dream. Just blackness and then the gradual return to reality.

Timmy crawls out of his bed and comes over and sits on the edge of mine.

I try to steady my shaking hands. "Sorry." I seem to say this a lot these days.

"Hey don't apologize," he says. "I've seen a lot worse." Timmy looks at me closely. "Ain't the pills been working?"

Caught off guard, I hesitate, "You know about those?"

"Sure," he shrugs. "Nothin' to be ashamed about. A lot of guys smuggle in downers."

"They're prescription," I mutter defensively.

He stares at me seriously, his long blonde hair falling in his face. "Well, either way doesn't matter. You think the guards give a damn? I knew a kid who smuggled a knife in. Slit his own throat one night."

I wince at the image in my mind.

Timmy's face is pale in the dark, his eyes incredibly wide and black. "Thanks for the other day…you know for trying to get me out of there. Paul – my dad, he ain't such a bad guy. Just…confused."

"Ain't nothing confusing about hitting your son," I say in a low voice. "Why do you still see him?"

Timmy bristles. It's one thing to criticize your own family, another to hear someone else doing it. Then he chuckles, his laugh rolling off the walls of the room. "It's stupid, I know. I guess I keep thinkin' he'll change."

"Yeah. I keep hopin' things'll change too." I gesture to the room, my surroundings. "But I'm still here."

"You miss your family?" I can see this confuses him, that I confuse him. He expects my home life to be a catastrophe as well.

I smile thinly. "I'm trying not to."

XXXX

"So, Ponyboy. You've been here for a month now, how're you adjusting?"

I eye Patty Strickland with disdain. "I've been better."

Patty coughs and shuffles some papers on her desk. She sits back in her chair and taps her long nails against the desk, glancing around almost uncomfortably. Her office is small, lit by overhead fluorescent lights, which cast a greenish-hue over the room.

"Well," Her hands come together and she smiles genuinely. She likes me. She likes kids. For some reason, she just has a problem with our guardians. "I do have some good news."

I lean forward eagerly in my chair, my eyes lighting up. "I get to go home?"

Patty frowns, annoyance clouding her face. "No." She tries to smile again. "We found you a foster family."

I gape at her, the words still sinking in. She beams at me and sing-songs, "Congratulations. I wanted you to be the first to know."

"What? No. That's not good news." I shake my head, my hands gripping the edge of the chair almost painfully. "I thought-I thought you said this was temporary? Whatever happened to temporary?"

"Temporary until the judge recommends that Darrel Curtis resumes his guardianship. So far, he hasn't done that." Patty looks at the papers and then holds them out to me. "Don't you want to know about your foster family?"

It is hard for me to breath. "No. I really don't. I'm sure I'll find out all about them when I'm there." My voice is steady, but I can feel myself beginning to shake. As I begin to walk out, a flash of whiteness overtakes me. The room swirls in grays and whites. Starbursts overtake my vision, a glossy haze settling over me.

"Oh," I say simply before falling to my-

XXXX

"_My head isn't hurting," I tell Doctor Breyers._

_He gives me a cursory glance over and gathers up his instruments. "I'm going to discharge you," he begins slowly, ignoring the smile spreading across my face. "But if you have memory loss or extreme headaches, I'll be recommending that you see a specialist once a month." Doctor Breyers gives me a stern look. "Head injuries are no laughing matter."_

"_Hardy har," I say to his retreating back. As soon as the door clicks shut, I turn to Two-Bit who has been in the room the entire time. _

"_Why you gotta do that?" he moans as I slide out of bed. _

"_Do what?"_

"_Number one: giving that poor doctor hell. He's only trying to fix you up right." _

"_I'm right." I raise an eyebrow and tap my temple. _

"_That's debatable." Two-Bit smiles. "And number two…" He trails off as I grab a pack of smokes from underneath the hospital bed. "…What're you doing up? And why're you smoking?" His eyes dart to the door nervously as I light up, knowing Darry will raise hell if he catches me. _

_I point my smoke at him. "What's with the inquisition? You heard the doctor. I can go home."_

"_Kid, I think he meant after he talks to your brothers. You know giving them the whole reassuring 'your-younger-kid-brother-doesn't-have-brain-damage-and-isn't-defective' chat." Two-Bit takes my elbow and sits me on top of the bed. "Relax. We can play checkers or something." _

_I squirm and settle for arguing with him. "I just want to go home. I hate hospitals." _

"_Hell Ponyboy, maybe if you stayed out of trouble for once in your life you wouldn't be enjoying this fantastic room," Two-Bit tries to joke._

_But the joke falls flat. _

"_I couldn't help it," I say quietly._

_Two-Bit's face is suddenly very serious and pale. "Shit. Kid. I didn't-"_

XXXX

"I didn't mean to make you upset," Patty says in a panicked voice, crouching next to me. Her hands tremble as she helps me up. Apparently, having a kid nearly pass out in your office has that effect on people.

"It's ok." I move toward the door quickly, anxious to be away from her worried eyes. "I'm used to it by now." My legs feel wobbly and I hope I have the strength for the walk back to my room.

"You leave in a week," she suddenly blurts. "It will be for the best."

Quizzically, I stare at her, my hand on the doorknob. "Are you trying to convince me or yourself?"

Patty's face softens and then it freezes back up into that calm, professional mask. "I'll schedule you an appointment with your doctor as soon as possible. This shouldn't be happening."

"No, it really shouldn't."

XXXXX


	11. Chapter 11

Happy late Thanksgiving everyone! Hope everyone is having a fabulous weekend!

Long chapter - please read and review!

Disclaimer: This is a bleak story…it's meant to be…but have faith! ;) Also, I own no characters created by S.E. Hinton.

Enjoy!

XXXXX

When the calls and conversations

Accidents and accusations

Messages and misperceptions

Paralyze my mind

Busses, cars, and airplanes leaving

Burning fumes of gasoline

And everyone is running

And I come to find a refuge in the

Easy silence that you make for me

It's okay when there's nothing more to say to me

And the peaceful quiet you create for me

-The Dixie Chicks

XXXXX

"Soda? You seen my check? Sodapop?"

"It's in the bottom left drawer," I snap, without taking my eyes away from the carburetor. "Where they've always been."

I got to hand it to Steve; he's a persistent bastard. As much as I tell myself I don't want to talk to him, see him, I still do. He's at the house with Two-Bit nearly every day and is at work every Friday for his check.

"Just wanted to make sure," Steve drawls lazily and moseys on over to the front desk. Rummaging through the desk, spilling pencils and papers he finally finds his check.

"Son-of-a-bitch," I swear in a soft whisper as the crackscrew pops off the carburetor, goes flying and skitters across the floor.

Leaning down, Steve retrieves the screw and hands it to me. He raises an eyebrow and glances under the hood. "Ain't you finished that yet?"

"Guess I've been out of it these days," I say between clenched teeth, annoyed at Steve for pointing out the obvious. But I know he's right. I've been messing with this part for the last two days and I still can't fix it.

Steve shrugs noncommittally. "Can't say I blame you…what with your brother and all…"

I toss my wrench down, the metal ricocheting off the hard cement of the garage floor, and lean back on my stool. "Don't start in on him."

Wide-eyed, Steve holds his hands out in a _surrender_ gesture. "Sodapop, I wasn't blamin' him…shit." He bites his lip, searching his mind for the right thing to say. "I'm just trying to apologize…"

"Really? Well hell, this must be a Steve Randle first."

A frown crosses Steve's face. "Soda, you know it ain't like that. Sure, I admit I shouldn't have kept it from you. But what did you want me to do? Leave the kid at the station? Believe me I shoulda done that. Save a whole lot of trouble for myself."

"Because that's who's important isn't it? Steve." I point at him. "Did it ever occur to you that the state _would_ find out? That Darry and I looked like idiots because it seemed like we didn't know what was going on with our brother?"

Steve runs his hands through his hair, his eyes dark and serious. "You ain't makin' this easy."

I suddenly realize Steve wouldn't have won either way. Leaving Pony down at the station to fend for his self would have probably made me just as mad.

I'm angry with myself, at the situation and instead of dealing, I'm taking my frustration out on my best friend.

Feeling guilty, I curse myself inwardly. I've never been good at being a hard ass as Darry and Ponyboy can probably attest to. "I can't do easy right now, Steve," I finally admit reluctantly.

Steve pulls out a carton of smokes, rolling it between his palms. "Who can?"

The phone rings and Steve walks past me to swipe it up. "DX," he answers lazily, an unlit cigarette sticking out of his mouth. His bored expression quickly morphs to confusion. "Whoa, whoa. Slow down. Sure, he's here. Hold on a sec. Don't hang up." He holds the phone out to me. "Ponyboy."

"He say what happened?" Quickly, I wipe my greasy hands on a rag and move to Steve's side.

"Don't know. Can't understand him."

Worry gets the best of me as I inhale deeply and take the phone. "Ponyboy? What's wrong?" Famous first words.

"Soda," he moans, "I just found out they're putting me in a foster home."

His words spill out, faster and faster, barely taking a breath between sentences.

"They found me a family – I go sometime next week. They keep saying this is temporary but it's not, is it? They're just gonna keep carting me around until I'm 18…or until I go off the deep end."

Trying to calm him I say, "Ponyboy, slow down and tell me again." I can barely understand any of what he's saying except for a few choice words that make me go numb.

He pauses, struggling for a moment and then repeats: "They're putting me in a foster home. Next week."

I suck in a breath. "What?" I ask insistently, gripping the phone.

To some, foster care isn't that much different from the boy's home, but to us, it's a step backward. It will be that much harder to get Ponyboy back because while the boy's home was temporary, foster care could be permanent.

"Ponyboy," I begin, trying to find some hope. "Maybe they got it wrong. Maybe-"

"No! No maybe. They told me this morning. She was quite happy about it actually," he growls.

I shut my eyes and try to control my temper, knowing who my brother is referring to.

My boss – Vic Parsons - slams through the front door, back from lunch. "Curtis? You busy workin' or flappin' your mouth?" he bellows. I hold up my index finger in a wait gesture and mouth: _One sec_. I pull the phone deeper into the back office as he scowls at me.

Steve rolls his eyes, shoots me a smile and walks over to Parsons. "So, I hear you got into quite a fight down at the Rainbow yesterday," he grins, hoping to draw our boss into a long conversation to make him forget about me.

Although a less confrontational tactic may have been wise.

"-pop? You there?"

I turn my attention away from Parsons who is already showing Steve his fighting moves. "Sorry, Pone." I feel like such a shit when I say, "We'll figure it out, kiddo. Please don't worry."

_Goddamn, I can practically hear him frown over the phone_.

He knows it and I know it: we have no idea what's going to happen.

Darry and I have promised and promised him that everything would turn out okay – that he wouldn't be taken away - but the only thing we can accomplish is to keep getting the permanent middle finger from social services.

But we have to say we'll find a solution; we have to lie to each other. Because once we start saying, "It's not so bad" or "we can't do anything about it," and all other kinds of false, cheery BS, we don't stand a chance.

Ponyboy finally takes a breath, although it's shuddery. "Soda, when I go…I really wish you could come with me."

_Oh, don't say that_. I think wildly. _Please don't say that_. My brother sounds as if he's already checked out. Prepared his self for a long trip from which he won't return.

And I don't like it at all.

"Look, sit tight. I'll call Darry and we'll come down. Ok? Ok?" I press as I am met with silence.

"Ok," he agrees and hangs up.

I punch the phone down and then pick it back up and dial Darry's work number. Someone answers and I ask for Darry. After a long few minutes, Darry's on the line.

"Ponyboy?" Darry asks, breathing heavily.

"No, it's Soda. Pony just called – Darry they're putting him in a foster home."

"Goddamn it. _Goddamn it_. I was afraid of this." Darry seethes, worry bubbling around the edges. "Look, I can't get down there right now. I'm right in the middle of-" he breaks off abruptly. "Schafer, if you drop that lumber so help me god – Soda, is he ok?"

"Yeah," I begin slowly. "I think he knows…hell Darry, _I_ think _I know_ he's not coming home any time soon."

Darry is silent for a moment. "Is it kidnapping if you steal your own brother?"

I chuckle. "I like where you're going with this."

"Can you get down there?"

I watch Parsons flex a bicep at an amused Steve and say, "I think so. I'll try my damnest."

"Good." Darry's tone is relieved. "I'll call and get us a court date. Then, I'll meet you down there in a few hours."

Just like Ponyboy I say a dejected, "Ok" and hang up.

Collecting my thoughts, I sigh and then emerge from the back office. Steve looks up. "You need to go?"

I smile at him gratefully. "Yeah."

Parson blusters, "If Curtis leaves, you're staying Randle." His hands rest on his hips as he stares at us authoritatively.

"Why do you think I'm here man?" Steve slaps Parsons back and walks over to me. "Go on. Get out of here."

"See you tonight?" I swing my jacket on.

Steve already has the carburetor in his hands. He'll fix it in no time. "Yep."

And just like that, Steve and I fall back into our easy rhythm, the past already forgotten.

XXXX

"So, what's the verdict?" Two-Bit asks, spinning around in the recliner as Darry and I step through our front door. On the couch, Steve looks up from his magazine. They could almost pass for comical versions of Darry and myself.

I rip my tie off and throw it to the floor. "Supervised visitation rights. Once a week," I say bitterly before turning to Darry. "Darry, this is such bullshit," I complain. "We shouldn't have to get permission to see our brother."

Two-Bit's face falls. "He still has to go?"

Darry places a hand on my shoulder and moves past me. "Yeah, this weekend. After two months they'll re-evaluate our case. And if we're really lucky we might actually get to bring the poor kid home next time," he adds sarcastically before stalking off down the hall and slamming his bedroom door shut.

Steve whistles, long and low.

I shut my eyes briefly. Everyone's having a real tough time with this but Darry's taking it the worst. The slump of his shoulders, the harried tone in his voice when he speaks to lawyers, when he talks about Ponyboy. It's draining him.

Because no matter how many times I try to tell Darry that he's been working his ass off, that he's doing his best, I know he still feels he has let our parents down. Not to mention Ponyboy.

"How's the kid?" Two-Bit asks, leaning forward.

I shake my head and sit down next to Steve, keeping an eye on Darry's bedroom door. "Quiet."

"He's always been quiet," Steve states, trying to be reassuring.

"No," I begin. "Not like this. He barely looked at us. He's skinny too."

"So, uh," Two-Bit speaks up, his voice half-serious, half-joking. "Is the kidnapping option still on the table? I got the chloroform if you got the rope." Two-Bit is impatient; the continuous waiting bothers him.

"You don't even know what chloroform is," Steve scoffs. "Besides, I think the kid would come willingly Two-Bit."

My mouth forms a tight, white line. "Yeah, well you hope so…right?" From what I saw at the hearing, my brother doesn't look like he has a lot of faith in Darry and I these days.

Before they can respond, the doorbell rings and I drag myself back up. Opening it, a tall, blonde man greets me. "Can I help you?" I ask with a politeness I don't quite feel at the moment. It could be one of Ponyboy's teachers. Since our brother's disappearance from school a few have actually stopped by to tell us what a great student he was.

"Does a…Ponyboy Curtis live here?" the man asks nervously, his eyes darting behind me to stare at Steve and Two-Bit.

I pull the door shut tighter. "He does, he's not here right now."

"Oh. Well I was hoping I'd catch him around. You know when he'll be back?"

I eye him suspiciously. "Are you one of his teachers?"

The man hesitates. "No…I'd – I'd better be going."

He turns quickly, nearly stumbling down the steps when I hear Darry exclaim in a low voice, "Parker, you better get the hell gone. Now. I really don't feel like breaking my hand again."

Donald Parker. That's all I need to know. My only thought is not that this man has killed our parents, it's that this man has come to bother my youngest brother.

I twitch and Darry grips my elbow. "Soda. Leave it."

Wrenching my arm away, I advance towards Donald Parker. "Where in the hell do you get off coming around here?

"I just wanted to tell him I was sorry – for the night with the cops," Parker stutters, backing away from me. "He should have just let me alone."

"Damn right he should have. Let you drive right into oncoming traffic."

"Sodapop," Darry snaps. "Knock it off and get your ass inside." He turns to Steve and Two-Bit, who have edged themselves out onto the porch. "You too." Despite Darry wanting to rant and rage at Parker he has to remain the sole responsible party.

Luckily, I don't. Right now, I'm not thinking about the fact that half of our neighbors could be watching this scene. And if Steve or Two-Bit could get past my brother, I'm sure they'd be joining me.

Darry hits the right nerve. "Sodapop Curtis, do you really want the state to find out about this?"

The fight goes out of me. I sigh and retreat back to the house. "That was a dirty move."

"It worked didn't it?" Darry smiles at me for a second and then says to Parker: "I don't want to see you again."

Suddenly defensive, Parker wheels around. "Tell your brother I feel the same way about him. He's the one trackin' me down. Nosy kid. He needs to butt out of people's business before he gets himself into some real trouble."

Before I can retort angrily, Parker adds: "Does the kid have a few screws loose in the head or what?" He taps his temple and chuckles.

Steve shakes his head and laughs in disbelief. Two-Bit swears softly, gray eyes dark against his pale face. Darry cannot find words. He is frozen, his voice gone. With that one statement, Darry's furious face has suddenly morphed to hurt.

My stomach churns and I feel myself boil. Donald Parker does not know what he has said, but he has just said the wrong thing.

_Screw. This. Shit._

I stride toward Parker easily and swing a hard right, cracking his jaw and sending him to the ground.

XXXX

"Sodapop!" Ponyboy exclaims and hurries toward me. He covers the hospital corridor in a few quick minutes. I grab him and pull him in for a hug. "What're you doing here?" he asks with confusion.

"Dr. Rice called today to let us know you were coming in for a checkup." I ruffle his hair and take notice of Kenneth Christopher watching us from a respectful distance. I breathe easier, thankful that it is not Patty Strickland. "Thought I'd meet you here."

He scowls at me. "They just want to make sure I'm not going to kick off when I move into that house. So nobody can sue them."

"Don't talk like that," I tell him softly, feeling sick as I see the dark circles underneath his eyes, his hollow cheeks. "Are you still having the headaches?"

"Yes." Ponyboy lowers his voice and drops his head, his hair falling across his eyes. "Sodapop…yesterday – when I was filling out a form - I forgot our address. _Our address_. How can I do that?"

I grasp for an answer and fumble badly. "We'll ask the doctor."

We are walking back to the waiting room when Ponyboy stops in his tracks. "Soda. I'm real sorry for what I said last time…about saying how it was your fault I'm here. I didn't mean it."

"Don't worry about it. I know that," I say and smile at him. Then, I suddenly blurt out: "I punched Donald Parker."

_Way to take the edge off, Soda_, I think sarcastically. But I figure being honest with Ponyboy _is_ the best policy. I promised myself I'd never keep anything from him after he found the letter from Parker and hit me with the silent treatment.

Plus, it may open him up a bit; from the looks of my brother there seems to be a lot he won't say.

Pony raises and eyebrow, a glimmer of a smile on his face. "Really?"

"Really."

"Why?"

"Let's just say he said something really stupid."

Concern brushes itself across my brother's face. "He ain't gonna press charges is he?"

Hastily, I attempt to reassure him. "No, no. Don't think he wants to face the cops again."

Pony laughs but doesn't say anything else. I so badly want to quiz my brother, to sit him down and grill him because he does not look right. He does not look right at all.

"Pone," I begin and take his hand. Startled, Ponyboy tries to back away, his eyes dim. I don't have time to finish because Kenneth approaches us.

"Ponyboy, you can see your doctor now."

"Swell," he grumbles and takes off.

I make a move to follow but Kenneth stops me. "Mind if I have a few words?"

"What?" Unlike Darry, I feel no desire to impress these people.

"It's about the move," Kenneth says, taking a seat.

I don't sit, instead staring down at the man. "Sorry to tell you this but I sure as hell don't have any nice things to say about that."

"I don't expect you to. Believe it or not, we're hoping it will help your brother-"

"What will help him is getting him back home. Not dumping him with some random strangers," I snap.

"Sodapop, he's not doing well at the State Home, as I'm sure you can see. It's mandatory that he goes to dinner but he barely takes a few bites before going back to his room. And even with the sleeping pills he still has nightmares…"

Weakly, I take a seat next to Kenneth, a lump forming in my throat. "What sleeping pills?" It's hard enough trying to think about my brother refusing to eat, let alone popping pills.

Confused, Kenneth removes his glasses and begins polishing the lenses. "Dr. Rice's prescription. I thought you were informed."

"No, we weren't."

"I don't like this situation any more than you do, son." I look up in shock as Kenneth puts his glasses back on. "But the decision has been made and my hands are tied… for now. At the end of the trial period I will testify for you. I believe you and your brother are fit guardians."

"It's a shit system." He puts a hand on my shoulder and stands up. "I'm going to check on Ponyboy."

I watch his retreating figure disappear into a nearby exam room.

A moment passes and I stare at the checkered tile, despair settling over me. "Oh, kiddo," I ask the empty room, "where did you go?"

XXXXX


	12. Chapter 12

Ok-new chapter. Please read and review!!! Perhaps I'll update again today…perhaps not…

This story may seem a bit long, but I have wanted to do a semi-realistic, not rushed foster care story. So I hope you all are enjoying!

XXXXX

I wish I could just disappear. Just melt off the face of the earth, trickle down some drain and never be seen again.

It is obvious to everyone and especially myself that I have gone downhill in the last few weeks. I don't want to think about home, I don't want to talk to anyone, I don't want to eat anything – everything tastes like baloney. I just want to be.

Resting my head against the window of the white van, I sigh and watch the scenery.

We pass snow-covered hills and trees, a few brick houses standing out against the bleak landscape. The foster family lives out in the country, about 20 miles from my brother's. It's not that far, but to me I may as well be in Texas.

The van slows and the engine cuts off. "Ponyboy?" Kenneth rotates in the driver's seat. "You ready son?"

I just look at him. Then I turn to look out my window. The house is large, two stories with a white deck and awning. Huge windows overlook the front yard; in the back a barn and a rusted tractor.

Patty hops out and slings my back door open. "I got your bags, sweetie." She doesn't smile; I think she just wants me out of her hair. Ever since my near collapse she seems afraid of me.

My legs turn to jelly as I hop out of the car. Kenneth steadies me and guides me forward. The light sleet crunches below our feet as we walk up the gravel drive. Kenneth raps on the door and we wait.

The door swings open to reveal a woman about 40 with wild, curly brown hair and light brown eyes. "Hello," she says in a heavy twang. Her eyes crinkle as she smiles at the social workers and then at me. "You must be Ponyboy."

"Hi," I say softly and manage a small smile.

"Come on it, honey." She holds the door open and we all step into the dark and narrow hallway. "I'm Frances Mann," she chirps, ushering us into the living room. "You can put the bag down there," she instructs Patty.

Kenneth shakes Frances's hand. "We really appreciate this. Any home for our kids is a great thing."

Frances notices my frown and waves him off. "Please, no need for that." She lowers her voice. "I'll let ya'll chat for a moment." She leaves the room.

Patty turns to me. "Ponyboy, just to run over a few things…you can see your brother's once a week with supervised visits."

Kenneth interjects, "And if the Mann's approve more than that. You're free to call Darrel and Soda once a day as well."

I nod and bite the inside of my cheek to keep from crying. Despite my dislike for social workers, it is another thing to be completely thrown into an unknown world.

Digging into his pocket, Kenneth hands me his card. "Call me if you need anything. Especially if you need to go to the doctor." He looks at me pointedly, "The Mann's can take you as well. Just let them know. They are aware of your…nightmares and everything else."

Mortified and a bit mystified at why they'd still take me in, I stare at the ground. Suddenly, I realize that I know nothing about these people. It's my fault; I never read the file.

"Ms. Mann?" Patty peers into the hallway.

Frances reappears.

Patty straightens the bracelets on her wrist. "We're going to go…do you have any questions?"

"No, Ms. Strickland, the lady at the agency ran through it pretty clearly. But not to worry, I'm sure I'll get the hang of it."

I feel very detached from everything going on around me. Almost as if I could drift off and float away.

"Very well." Patty nods promptly. "Ken?"

Kenneth is hesitant before leaving. He turns to me. "You have my card?"

I hold it up, a bit bewildered. "You just gave it to me."

"Right, right." Kenneth touches my shoulder. "Good luck, Ponyboy."

Frances clasps her hands together as they leave, the door slamming shut behind them. "Would you like something to drink?"

"Sure," I say and follow her into the kitchen. A round yellow table is the centerpiece of the room, checkered curtains and a record player completing the ensemble. It is so unlike our kitchen; so bright and…antiseptic.

Shaking off the thought, I take a seat at the table and watch her open the fridge.

"Oh, and do call me Franny," she says setting a glass of milk in front of me. I stare at it a moment. Tentatively, Franny pulls out a chair and sits across from me. "This must be very difficult for you."

I blink, not wanting to talk about myself. "Where's your husband?"

"Michael has to travel a lot. For his work. It's just me around here." She laughs and amends her statement. "Well, me and the farm animals. They sure aren't much company." Franny twirls a curl around her finger and leans toward me. "We have horses if you like to ride."

Coldness washes over me. "No, I don't know how."

"Well, maybe I can teach you," Franny suggests, unaware as to how much her words have affected me.

"Maybe." I leave my milk untouched. "Can I call my brothers?"

She seems to wilt, disappointment clouding her face. But she nods. "Of course, sweetie. I'll show you your room. There's a phone in there – you can use it whenever you want."

I smile at her gratefully. At least, I can give her that much.

My room is at the top of the stairs, near the back of the hall. It's cozy, with sloped ceilings and two small windows that look out over the stables. _Perfect_, I think scornfully.

Frances stops on her way out and turns to me. "I was planning on making chicken for dinner. Is there anything you don't like? Or are allergic to?"

Shaking my head, I snap open my suitcase. "Not that I know of. But don't go to any trouble. I'm not much hungry anyways."

She leaves and I sink down into the bed forlornly. I miss Soda's cooking. I miss being made to do chores and homework. Most of all, I miss having people around who know me, people who I don't have to explain my actions or myself to.

I miss everything about me.

The phone rests on the nightstand next to my bed. My stomach churns nervously. I stare at it but do not pick it up. I sit in that room for the next 30 minutes, trying to muster up the courage to call.

And even when Franny calls me down for dinner, I don't go. I stay in that room and watch the phone.

XXXXX

_All I see is the color black. It drips down the walls and smears across the floor. It's simultaneously bright and dark. Hot and cold. My hand stretches out and touches a wall; it comes back covered in a thick black slickness. _

"_Hello?" I ask the empty house. I do not know this house, the strange halls and the strange rooms. An odd chill settles over me as I grasp the door handle and step outside. _

_My feet are suddenly freezing. Looking down, I see I am standing on a thin sheet of ice. Crouching down, I place my hands on the icy surface, squinting at the bubbles below, the darkness. My hands leave behind black prints. _

_The ice ripples and there are colors beneath the surface. Only I cannot reach them. I am there as well, a better version of me. Another life is there. _

_A door slams, catching me off guard. The vision beneath me disappears. "Wait," I call out to it pleadingly. _

_A person is standing in the doorway. I feel my eyes grow large, as I realize this person is not familiar. Is not…good._

_I try to call out for my brother's but their names die on my tongue. I cannot remember. And because of this they cannot help me. _

"_They'll never help you," the dark voice hisses, a hand stretching out to grasp my wrist._

XXXX

I am crying, that much is clear when I come out of my nightmare. But at least I am not screaming. I wipe a palm down my wet face, my breath coming in shaky gasps. I have never been so frightened; I cannot place the dark shadow in my dream. Just thinking about it causes me to tremble.

Ignoring the time – it is two in the morning – I call my house. I have not called my brothers in three days but tonight I need to. The phone rings ten times but I hang on.

"Please answer, please answer, please answer," I chant, almost trying to conjure my brothers up.

"'Lo?" Darry answers dazedly.

"Darry," I whisper, gripping the receiver with difficulty. "How's it going?" I laugh a bit hysterically to mask a sob.

Instantly, Darry is alert. "Ponyboy," he says very slowly, "where are you?"

I frown. This is a stupid question; he should know where I am. And then I realize he thinks I am hurt or at the hospital. It makes sense why 2 a.m. phone calls would put my brother on edge.

"At the foster home. I had a nightmare, Darry. I didn't know who to call," I finish meekly.

Exhaling with relief, Darry says, "Oh honey, it's ok, you're awake now. I'm here and everything's fine."

He waits until my breathing syncs with his and then he asks the million-dollar question, "Ponyboy, when do you want to have a visit?" Darry sounds so hopeful it kills me.

"Maybe this weekend?" I suggest half-heartedly, trying to ignore my churning stomach. I don't tell him that Frances said she doesn't mind if I see my brother's whenever I feel like it. I don't tell him that I have almost called him twenty times in the last three days.

"Good. I'll take the time off work and let Soda know." Darry's voice is deep and soothing when he says, "Do you feel ok to go back to sleep?"

I swing my legs over the bed and grimace at my pillow. I am honestly afraid of sleep. "Darry, why don't the pills work?" I ask insistently. "I still dream." The yellow pill bottle catches my glance in the moonlight. "I suppose I could take more," I mumble absentmindedly.

"No!" Darry exclaims very sharply. "No. No more than three. You hear me? You know I don't like you taking them at all."

"Fine," I grumble.

"I'm serious, Pone. If nothing else, please Goddammit listen to me on this."

"I promise Darry," I tell him and mean it.

XXXXX

On Friday, I awake to somebody yelling. It is still early, perhaps seven in the morning. The sunshine bleeds through the sheer curtains and I rub my eyes against the brightness. Hastily, I throw on jeans and a sweater and tiptoe down the stairs.

Angry words rush up to meet me. "Are you shitting me? Please tell me you're pullin' my leg."

I hear Frances's stubborn voice say, "Don't use that tone. And no – I'm not 'shitting' you. It's a good idea."

A harsh laugh. "No. It's definitely not a good idea. It's a goddamn stupid idea. And you know _exactly_ why."

I make my way halfway down the stairs to see Frances arguing with a young guy. His back is to me, but he has the same light brown hair as Frances and it looks like it could use a good washing. It is longer than mine and he wears a brown bomber jacket.

Frances crosses her arms. "Jacob, it was a good thing to do. He needed a home. Besides, I don't have you anymore…I didn't even know you were coming back-"

Jacob slams his fists on the table, causing Frances and myself to jump. "Goddammit ma, you can't use that excuse! He's not some damn puppy you can return to the pound. He's a kid."

Throwing his arms out, Jacob shrugs, giving up. "But if you want to be stuck with him, it's your problem."

On the last few steps, I trip and stumble down with a _thud_. "Shit," I swear softly as the conversation in the kitchen grows silent.

"Hey Squirt, c'mere," the male voice calls out.

Confused, I look around.

"Hey kid, yes you," The guy sticks his head into the hallway and raises an annoyed eyebrow my way. "Jesus Christ, are you thicker than a set of bricks or what?"

"Well, at least I'm not an asshole," I snap irately and shove past him into the kitchen. Being pestered by some unknown guy is not high on my list of priorities right now.

"Glad to see the kid's got a little backbone," he announces following me in.

Frances purses her lips and sets her coffee cup down. "I'm sorry, sweetie. Meet my son. Jacob."

"Why didn't you tell me you had a son?"

"Selective memory," Jacob sneers, lounging in the doorway. From this angle I get a better look at him. He is tall and lean, in his early 20's, his eyes so light a brown they seem almost red.

"Stop it, Jake," Frances hisses. She turns to me. "I told him not to come back until he got his act together. Hopefully he has." Her eyes swerve back to Jacob.

Jake pulls out a blade and begins cleaning his fingernails. "Hope ain't got nothing to do with it."

I shift uncomfortably. Until now, things had been relatively uneventful at my foster home. I just existed, in my own bubble. Frances gave me my space; she was incredibly nice and patient when I holed myself up in the bedroom, and was trying to learn about my family and me.

Yet, I can feel the heavy tension and I wonder what has happened between them. I feel a bit nauseated to think that I have become Jake's stand-in.

_I've got to get out of here_, I think with a dawning panic.

"You want me to make you some breakfast?" Frances asks.

"No!" I say a little too harshly. "It's fine. I need to get to school." I am vaguely aware of Jake's eyes on my back as I hurry up the stairs.

XXXXX

The walk from school back to the Mann's is about twenty minutes but I don't mind. My breath comes in white clouds and I stuff my hands in my jacket pockets to keep them warm.

The high school I am attending is probably the best thing about my foster home. There are no such things as Greasers and Socs out here, which seems odd to me since the town of Sand Springs is not that far from Tulsa. But it's a nice change not to worry about it. Kids are polite and curious about me but they don't ask to many questions and I don't volunteer them.

I don't try to make friends either because I will not be here long.

_Keep telling yourself that Ponyboy_, a small voice whispers to me. _Isn't one of the first stages of grief denial? _

I barely notice the truck speed by me. "Crazy bastard," I mutter, jumping out of its way.

The gray truck pulls over to the side of the road and honks. The passenger side window rolls down and Steve Randle sticks his head out. "Hey kid! Get your ass in here!"

It takes me a second to realize I know him and then I come out of my daze and hurry over. I lean in the window. "What're you doing here?"

"Oh, just taking a little drive out in the boonies," he says sarcastically before retorting, "Why do you think I'm here dumb ass? Thought I'd take you and surprise Sodapop." His long arm reaches out and pops the passenger door open. "Now get in here. It's freezin'."

I climb in and Steve's eyes go wide. He doesn't say anything instead punching the heat on and revving the engine. We drive for a few minutes in silence and then he pulls into a drive-in burger joint.

"What do you want?" Steve grunts.

Surprised, I look at him. "I thought you were hungry."

"Ponyboy, if you think I'm taking you to see Darry and Soda when you look like a walking corpse, you're delusional."

"Steve, you do have a way with the similes." I glower at him and cross my arms. Turning away from him, I stare out the window and watch a woman walking her dog.

Steve barks an order at the waitress and shakes my shoulder to make me look at him. He eyes me, somewhat sadly. "Kid, you're not gonna do this. If your brothers saw you…Darry'd flip. They both would. There's no way I'm taking you to the DX today."

"I'm not hungry. Everything tastes like baloney." But as my eyes catch myself in the rearview mirror, I know he's right. I look horrible. I couldn't even run track if my head wasn't conked. My eyes are matte, my face pale.

Steve twists in his seat, his face incredibly livid. "I don't give a shit if it tastes like…well shit. We're going to sit here until you eat a meal. Until those beatniks come out at night start playing that shitty-ass music I hate. And if you don't eat this food and I waste my time, I'll cram it down your goddamn throat."

I bite back my cynical reply and look at him. Suddenly, there's no doubt in my mind that he would actually do this.

And so we sit and wait for the food.

XXXXX.

Please read and review!


	13. Chapter 13

Lucky chapter 13!

Disclaimer: I own no characters created by S.E. Hinton.

Warning: Cursing and mature subject themes.

That said, enjoy and please leave reviews!

XXXXX

_Albedo, whitening: spiritualization, enlightenment_

XXXXX

Franny frowns as we pull up to a stop in front of my house. From the look on her face, she does not approve of the neighborhood. "I know these visits have to be supervised," she begins hesitantly, "but I don't think I need to come in do I?" She smiles sweetly.

I blink, finding it odd that she'd willingly let me be alone with my brothers. But I'm not one to argue. "Thanks," I say, throwing my door open, "I appreciate it."

"I'll be back in a few hours," Franny calls out as I walk up to the front door. She waves and drives off.

I am about to knock but catch myself. My hand grips the knob and I step inside. The house looks the same, although it's abnormally clean. Some LEGO's are scattered across the floor and there is a hole in the wall next to the phone, where I suppose Darry punched his hand.

"Hello?" I call out tentatively. I hear a thud and then Soda scrambles out of the bathroom, toothbrush still in his mouth.

"Ponyboy!" he nearly shouts before swinging me up in his arms. "You're early." He sets me back down and tugs out the toothbrush. Soda tries to toss his toothbrush in the bathroom sink, it settles for bouncing in and out and landing next to the toilet.

I wrinkle my nose. "Well, I see your aim hasn't improved."

Soda smiles and laughs. Then he looks behind me. "Where's the supervisor? Mrs. Mann?" None of us will call her my foster parent.

"She didn't want to stay…she'll pick me up later this afternoon."

Soda's face is suddenly serious. His brown eyes scour the length of me and I squirm awkwardly. "What?" I ask.

"Nothing," he says softly, brushing my hair out of my face. "Darry and Two-Bit are bringing back lunch," he tells me, his meaning ringing loud and clear throughout the quiet house.

XXXXX

Two-Bit and Darry arrive home to find Soda and me playing cards. Soda hasn't said much, both of us avoiding the inevitable conversation. It's just as well; we'd have to rehash it once Darry gets home.

Two-Bit dumps the groceries on the floor and runs over to me, leaving Darry scowling behind him.

"The kid's got aces!" Two-Bit announces with a laugh as he hugs me fiercely. Soda promptly folds.

"You owe me a dollar," I tell my friend, a smile on my lips. I go over and help Darry with the grocery bags, ignoring the concerned glances Soda and Two-Bit exchange.

"How you been?" I ask Darry, heaving up a bag. "Miss yelling at me?" I shoot him a smile to let him know I'm joking.

He chuckles. "Not too much. I do have Two-Bit to blame for most things now." Darry stumbles over the LEGO's and glares at Two-Bit. "Speaking of which…Two-Bit move these damn LEGO's or they're going in the trash." Darry kicks the rest out of the way as we walk into the kitchen.

"Be careful with them!" Two-Bit protests dramatically. "I'm telling you Darry, they'll be a rarity in the future."

"So…how is the foster home?" Darry asks me as I begin to unpack the groceries. The words _foster home_ come out bitterly. Darry knows a little bit about the family I am staying with, but I know he wants more, so he can analyze, feel in control.

"Fine," I say carefully, setting cans of tomato sauce on the counter. "Frances – Mrs. Mann – she's nice. I go to school, do my homework and that's about it. Nothing exciting."

I plow ahead so that they can't ask me about the headaches, the nightmares. I can practically plan our conversations in advance. "Did you know she has a son?" Since that day in the kitchen, I haven't seen Jacob at all. I hear him coming and going at night, but other than that he's a mystery.

Curious, Darry cocks his head. "No, I didn't."

Shrugging, I lean back against the counter. The familiar brown countertop comforts me, reminds me of better times, better conversations. "I didn't either…until the other day. I haven't seen a lot of him. He came back from someplace. I think he was in trouble."

As soon as the words come out of my mouth, I know I shouldn't have said them.

"Jail?" Two-Bit offers and I shoot him an angry glare. _That's the last thing I need them to worry about_.

Soda looks up from shuffling his cards and frowns.

_Sorry_, Two-Bit mouths to me.

"How's work going?" I ask, trying to propel the conversation along.

"Glad you asked that," Two-Bit cuts in. "I for one, am still thankfully, unemployed."

"Your poor mother," Darry says rolling his eyes.

Two-Bit raises his eyebrows. "Well, if you really want, I can always come down and apply for a job at your work."

"Scratch that idea." Darry dumps a can of tomato sauce in a pot and begins boiling some water for pasta. "It's bad enough I have to put up with you at my house 90 of the time, I'm not doing the same at work." He turns to me. "In answer to your question, work is insanity-free, unlike this place."

"Soda?" I prod. "How about you? How's work at the-the-"

My eyes widen as I realize I cannot remember the name of Soda's work. A blinding pain hits my temple and I can feel the room spinning. The blackness from my nightmare clouds my vision and then it clears again.

In the space of a few seconds, Soda has set me down in the kitchen chair, Darry and Two-Bit watching anxiously.

"Ponyboy," Soda says urgently, prying my fingers away from temples, "how's the head? C'mon kiddo."

I open my eyes and choke out a laugh. "-The DX."

XXXX

I am getting a glass of chocolate milk after school when the back door flies open and Jake stalks in, Frances following behind him. The leave the screen door open, the field and the tractor in view as the wind whips through the house. My math homework flies up and into the hallway.

"I was right!" Franny is shrieking at Jake. "I knew you hadn't changed. Not one bit!" She raises her right hand and hurls something at Jake, who catches it squarely in his fist.

Frances puts her palm to her mouth and begins to cry. "You should leave."

"I'm sorry," I mumble and try to edge myself out of the kitchen.

"No!" Franny's arm darts out and catches my sleeve. "Not you sweetie." She juts her chin at Jake. "You."

Jake's face is collected, only his voice implies his rage. "Ma, I ain't going anywhere. Not while he's here." His angry auburn eyes dart to me.

"I can't have you here. I won't have you here!" Franny grabs a dinner plate and throws it across the room. It hits the wall and shatters, sending glass flying.

Comically, Jake and I duck. "Ingrained reflex," he tells me with a smirk as we both straighten up.

I grip a chair, feeling as if I am in a war zone. Even past fights with Darry have never neared this meltdown status.

"Remember that time Jake," Franny begins and Jake pales, his composure cracking. "That time I found you halfway gone-" She shakes her head, her curls swinging. "I knew you were still putting that stuff up your nose. If you think I'm letting this child be around you-"

"Fran, you're an idiot!" he shouts at her. "You're stupid and you're foolish. This child," Jake points at me, "Does not need to be here. Take off the goddamn blinders will ya? Jesus Christ!"

Jake wheels around and storms out of back door.

After a beat, I run after him, oblivious to Franny's calls, oblivious to the fact that I have no shoes on and am running on newly fallen snow. The sky is violet against the setting sun; darkness comes early this time of year.

Finally, I find him in the garage behind the house, shrugging off his brown bomber jacket. He squats down next to a motorcycle and begins tinkering with the engine. In the corner of the room are a small bed, a nightstand and some books.

_This is where he's been living_, I think.

"How can you talk to her like that?" I ask hotly.

Jake looks up unemotionally and wipes his messy hair back. "I love Franny. But she's selfish. You'll see it soon enough. This ain't the best home for you, Squirt. You just don't know it yet." His eyes burn like fire.

"Don't call me that." Then, curiosity gets the best of me and I ask quietly, "What was all that about?"

Jake raises a wry eyebrow and watches my face. "She found my stash."

"You take drugs?" I try to keep the disdain from my voice but fail miserably.

"Used to. OD'd twice," he replies neutrally, glancing down at the bike's motor. "After that…I stopped. Now I deal."

"So, you just, what? Spread the joy?" I ask sarcastically.

"I only sell to those who ask."

"Real noble of you."

Jake finally looks up from the bike, his eyes calm. He reminds me of Dallas – the way Johnny saw Dallas. Dangerous, yet collected and cool. "Not everyone can be good like you, Squirt."

"Don't call me that," I repeat with annoyance and then add defensively, "I'm not that good."

Amusement glimmers in Jake's eyes. "Late fees from unreturned library books don't count."

I stare at him a moment and then actually laugh. The laugh echoes in the large garage and for some reason I feel relieved. I then remember that I have not laughed in a long time.

"Go inside," Jake speaks. "Fran'll shit herself if she catches you in here."

"Yeah," I agree softly, pulling the large double doors open. I wrap my arms around myself for warmth and quickly pad across the large backyard. The moon is high and round in the sky. It reminds me of an egg-

XXXXX

"_Eggs?" Soda asks, setting a huge plateful of breakfast in front of me. Sunny side up, the yolks are just begging to be broken._

_I grimace at the smell and turn my head away. "Not hungry." It is my first day back at home after being in the hospital for two weeks. I relish my freedom but not my hovering brothers. _

"_You gotta eat something," Soda murmurs. "For me?" He gives a cheesy smile._

"_It's the medicine," Darry informs him, entering the kitchen. "It makes him feel sick." Darry squeezes my shoulder as he walks by to pour himself a cup of coffee._

"_Oh, I didn't know that," Soda says with a frown. I bite my lip and look up at my worried brother. I don't understand what is going on with him. I'll admit my head is a bit fuzzy but since waking up in the hospital, Soda acts as if everything he does or says is wrong. _

_He's never wrong. He's Sodapop._

"_It's ok," I say, attempting to make him feel better. "I'll try a few bites." But as soon as the eggs reach my lips, I know I have made the wrong move. "Oh shit," I say bolting from the table and running for the bathroom. _

_I come back a few minutes later to find Two-Bit eating my breakfast and Steve and Darry arguing about the correct way to pass a football. _

"_We should charge you rent, Two-Bit," I joke, dropping weakly into the nearest chair._

"_How was yakking up your guts?" Steve asks me with his usual tact. He hasn't had the chance to bitch at me for a while; I think he missed it._

"_Hey, I'm eating here!" Two-Bit whines, holding up his fork. He reaches over and ruffles my hair. "How you doin' kid?" _

_I shake him off, irritated. I wish everyone would leave me alone. I'm not dead; I'm not dying. I'm back home._

_Darry's face turns beet red and he points at Steve. "Don't. Don't. Do not start with him." _

_Steve shuts his mouth fast, his eyes moving to me accusingly. I merely shrug; I don't have the energy to fight with him. It's not my fault Darry gets worked up over me getting worked up. _

_Soda sticks his head into the room. "Darry you really gotta take this," he says, his voice abnormally high. He holds his hand out and waves the phone at our brother. _

"_Hello?" Darry asks, scowling at Sodapop who is gesturing not so subtly that he should leave the room. Darry suddenly pales and makes a quick exit, Soda at his heels. _

"_Maybe it's the doctor calling to tell me I'm brain dead," I say tiredly, leaning back in my chair. _

_Two-Bit lays his fork down while Steve looks impressed with the comment. "I'll give you that, kid," he says. _

_Pushing back in my chair and gripping the table, I balance the back legs of my chair on the tile, the front rocking high into the air. I bring the front down with a _clack_; wait a moment and then rock back with a _squeak

"_Maybe uh…" Two-Bit suggests nonchalantly, "Maybe uh…you shouldn't be doing that at the moment." _

"_Why?" I ask, baiting him and continue rocking. _

_Two-Bit's jaw tightens. "Isn't 'because-I-said-so' enough?" _

"_Two-Bit? A figure of authority?" Steve snorts. "Never thought I'd live to see the day." _

"_Steve, you know Darry's advice? Might not be a bad idea to take it," Two-Bit retorts testily, his eyes flicking between Steve and me. _

_My brothers re-enter the kitchen. I set the chair back down with a heavy clack, causing everyone to jump. "Who was it?" I inquire. _

_They look shaken but Darry pulls himself together. After a quick glance at Soda he says, "The bank. Something about a bad check. But they had the wrong account." _

"_Are you sure?" The last thing I want is for them to be having money problems. _

"_Yeah, we're sure Ponyboy." Soda says with a forced smile. "We're positive." _

XXXXX

"Wanna go for a ride?"

I jump down from the fence and face Jake. I have been watching the horses run in the pasture while waiting for Soda and Darry to pick me up for our weekly visit.

"No way," I snap, upset at being caught off guard.

Jake smiles slyly and flicks his cigarette ashes at me. "Why not? It's therapeutic."

"Believe me, I know all about therapy," I say, remembering my sessions in the hospital where they quizzed me to make sure my brain was up to par. Jake is looking at me quizzically and so I offer up: "Riding accident."

"How'd it happen?"

"The saddle wasn't cinched right," I mumble, feeling guilty.

"That was stupid. Who did that?" Jake asks, a cloud floating across his face.

I walk away from Jake and stare at the dreary scenery. "My brother."

"Has he ridden since then?"

"No," I answer honestly. "I don't think he can." And it's true. Soda cannot handle it if anyone talks about anything riding related.

"So then, you should."

Blinking with confusion, I turn back towards him. "I should what?"

"Ride."

"Why?"

"Jesus Christ, what are we playing 20 questions here?" Jake throws his hands up and chuckles. "C'mon Squirt-"

"Don't," I hiss, "Call me that."

"-_You_ should ride to show your brother that _he_ can. When you're ready…it will show him you don't blame him."

I stalk up to Jake. "I don't blame Sodapop. Never."

Jake shrugs. "You do have the right. It was his fault." He notices my frown, his tone softening. "Squirt-" He holds up a hand, anticipating my protest. "-You've told your brother you don't blame him right?"

"Yes…more times than I can count." I run a hand through my hair, wishing we were done speaking about this topic. Living it over and over takes its toll.

"Do you think he believes you? Saying it doesn't prove it." Jake reaches out and removes some thick leather reins from a fence post. He slaps them in my palms. "Showing it does."

I hear a horn honk. "My brother's are here," I tell him, backing away slowly. When I reach the truck, I look back to see Jake smoking and watching the horses.

Climbing in, I squeeze next to Sodapop, Darry at the wheel.

"Who's that?" Darry asks.

"Jake," I mutter and shift, trying to get comfortable in the small cab. "Franny's son." Jake has unnerved me, his talk cutting too close.

Soda's voice is very distressed when he says, "Ponyboy, what are you doing with these?" He takes the reins from my hands. I feel myself pale; I had not even been aware that I was carrying them.

"He wants me to ride," I explain lamely.

Soda rolls down my window and throws the reins to the ground.

XXXXX

Please leave reviews...


	14. Chapter 14

Please leave reviews! I really do love and appreciate them!

Warning: Cursing & mature topics.

Disclaimer: I don't own the song. I own no characters created by SE Hinton. I just love them very much is all.

Also, just a reminder to those who have asked – the italic scenes are either dreams or flashbacks to the accident.

Thanks!

XXXXX

And there ain't no moral to this story at all

And anything I tell you

Very well could be a lie

I've been away from the livin'

I don't need to be forgivin

I'm just waiting for that cold black sun-cracked soul of mine

To come alive

-The Refreshments

XXXXX

"How's school going?" Franny asks as I set the table. The record player spins Buck Owens, his twangy drawl drifting throughout the house.

"Good," I tell her. "We're reading _The Great Gatsby_ in English class."

"That's nice." She nods and hands me two glasses. "I think I read that a long time ago. Daisy Buchanan and Nick Carraway, right?

Impressed, I smile at her. "Yeah, that's right."

"One of my favorites," she murmurs absently, checking the oven. She stands back up and leans against the counter. "You making any friends?"

"Some," I lie.

"You should bring 'em by the house one day," Franny suggests casually. "I'd like to meet them."

"Sure," I say, knowing I never will. I want to ask how Jake is, where he is, but I know this will not sit well. I don't like the hysterical Franny that I see whenever he resurfaces. He has been gone a while now – nearly a week since I last saw him in the yard.

I am checking the fridge for the salad and Franny is pulling the tuna noodle casserole out of the oven when a door slams and the floors creak in the hallway. I turn, half expecting to see Jake appear. Instead, a bearded man appears in the doorway. "Hey, Frances."

Franny gasps, her pot-holdered hands flying up to her mouth, the tuna casserole falling to the wood floor and shattering. Shards of glass mixed with noodles lay beneath her feet.

_So much for dinner. _

"Mike…" Franny says nervously, tugging at her hair. "You're back."

The man's booming laugh is full and throaty. "Of course I am. Where's my warm welcome?"

Franny scoots up to him, throws her arms around him and kisses him full on the mouth.

He pats her bottom. "That's more like it." Mike looks over her head and squints at me. "Jacob?"

I raise an eyebrow. Apparently, father and son are not so close. Mike is taller than Darry, his hair a dark brown, gray streaking his temples. His beard is trim and flecked with deep red. He is not as lean as Jake, stockier and rougher looking.

Franny giggles, edging out from Mike's arms. "No, honey. This is…remember I told you about…" She lowers her voice, "…the foster boy."

My stomach flips. I hate that word.

Mike stares at me for a long moment and then slaps his thigh. "Oh yeah. I think I do remember something about that." He gives Franny a long, hard look. "You could have mentioned it to me more than once. I don't like surprises."

Then, Mike turns to me. "What's your name?"

"Ponyboy," I say firmly.

He smiles strangely. "Hmm. Get me a beer, will ya?"

Settling himself at the table, Mike pops the can of Budweiser I hand him and surveys the kitchen. "What's for dinner?"

My eyes dart to the unsalvageable casserole. Franny meets my eyes and shakes her head imperceptibly. She shoots Mike a small, timid smile, pointing at the mess. "I sort of had an accident. That _was_ dinner."

Mike merely shrugs and takes a long swallow of beer. "Well, better start another one."

XXXXX

A few soft strains of Patsy Cline's "Walkin' After Midnight" float out of the garage, as I pull the two wide double doors open. "Jake?"

Not finding him, but assuming he is around since his bike sits parked in the garage, I sling my backpack to the ground and go look for him. I light a cigarette and cross the yard, the dead and ice-covered grass crunching beneath my shoes.

I find Jake in the stables, hauling hay across the dusty barn.

"Where you've been?" I ask.

"Networking," he replies with a smirk. Looking up at me, his eyes catch the dimming sunlight, flashing auburn. He scares me and relaxes me. Unfortunately, I know why.

He is so much like Dallas Winston, it creeps me out. And no one can ever beat Dallas Winston.

Softly I ask, "Did you know your dad's back?" Ever since Mike arrived home, Franny's been a shell of herself; I'm not sure if it's because of Mike or Jake but either way it unnerves me.

Jake's face clouds over. "Yeah. Never was one for family reunions." Then he straightens up, long strands of hay falling from his fingers. "Anything you need to tell me?"

Caught off guard by the seriousness of his voice I eye him closely. "Like what?"

I can see he is weighing his words carefully and instead says nothing, choosing to pull a flask from his back pocket and take a long sip. When he's done, he holds it out to me. "Care to meet Mr. Daniels?"

"I shouldn't drink."

A smile tugs at his face. "Enlighten me."

Shifting, I finish my smoke and am careful to toss it outside onto the damp grass. I watch the glow fade and then die. I feel odd and then I realize it is the first time I am admitting what has happened. It is a relief…a life preserver…a gut wrencher.

"My parents were killed by a drunk driver," I whisper as if it were some long-kept secret.

Which, it technically was. I think of my brothers and am numb.

Jake plops down into the hay. "Shit, Squirt. That wasn't your fault. Blame the sorry son-of-a-bitch who ran 'em down."

My jaw pulls tight. "Don't worry. I do."

I go to sit beside him, plunking down on the hay. As the hay shifts against my weight, I notice two steel prongs poking out about three inches beside me. Frowning, I stick my hands in and unearth a pitchfork.

A heavy foreboding sensation overcomes me. "Coulda done without that." I toss the pitchfork to the ground and rub my temple.

"When you gonna ride again?" Jake speaks up, capping the flask and nudging his toe against the pitchfork as if to check that it is really dead. "I got a nice horse with your name on it."

"How about…when you stop dealing?" I figure this will get him to shut up for a while and if he does stop dealing then I've done my good deed for the month.

Jake arches an eyebrow and leans back. "Hell, you may not be around here that long, Squirt."

I have nothing to say to that because I hope it's true. But every time I ask my brothers about a hearing date they sound so broken I don't bother to ask anymore.

We are silent for as the sun sets and a cool breeze blows through the rickety barn, the beams high above us rocking.

"When are you going away again?" I ask Jake.

Jake looks at me for a long time; his face dangerous as he looks back at the house he was raised in. "Not for a while, Squirt."

XXXXX

Franny is out shopping and I am waiting for Two-Bit and Steve to come pick me up. Darry and Soda both have work, but my friends figure a visit with me is never one to waste.

I walk out of the kitchen and bump into Mike. "Going out?"

"Yes," I mumble. I do not like this man. I can feel it; the house was tense before he came home, now it's downright eerie. He has been very casual about me; regarding me with an interest one might regard a buzzing fly.

I'm beginning to understand Steve avoids his old man and why Johnny never went home. It's one unending angry silence.

"Do you know where Fran is?" Mike takes a sip of beer and settles on the couch. His large hands plow through papers and magazines on the coffee table until he finds his wallet.

"I think she went shopping."

Mike's ruddy face turns even redder as he flips his wallet inside out and throws it across the room. I jump slightly as it hits a vase, which shatters on the floor. "Damn bitch."

My eyes widen and I glance at the clock on the wall. _Time to go_.

"It's always shopping with her, while I sit at home and twiddle my thumbs. As for that son of mine…he's probably using, crashed his bike around a telephone pole. Dead in a ditch." This is all said in a joking tone but his eyes are long gone.

Not liking where this is headed, I take a step backwards and grab my jacket.

I am pulling open the front door as Mike shouts, "Where in the hell do you think you're going?"

"Whoa!" Two-Bit exclaims as I nearly run him over in my haste to get out of the house.

"Sorry," I say and grab his arm, pulling him away from the front door. It slams shut, cutting off Mike's angry tirade. "Let's get out of here."

"What's with all the yelling?" Two-Bit asks, hurrying after me. Steve is waiting in the truck, the right front tire hopped up on the curb, nearly missing the mailbox.

"He always yells," I mumble and jump inside the cab.

Steve glances up from the paper he has been reading, spread out across the steering wheel. "Who does?"

I utter a small laugh as Steve pops the clutch and roars off of the curb. "The antichrist."

Only as I think about it, the yelling's not so funny.

XXXXX

We go to a diner on the outskirts of Tulsa. Steve and I sit in a ripped leather booth, waiting on Two-Bit. He is across the room on the pay phone gesturing rapidly. It's either his sister or his mother; both of them give him a run for his money.

"You look better," Steve grunts casually. "Not so…twiggy."

Surprised, I look away from my menu. "Steve. Please stop. Your concern astounds me," I say dryly.

He flips me the bird and blows smoke in my face. "Always was a smart ass."

Without waiting for Two-Bit, I tell the waitress: "Chocolate shake."

She smiles and scribbles on her notepad.

Scoffing, Steve raises an eyebrow. "In this weather? It's freezin'."

"You gonna argue with me or let me order?" I ask him as Two-Bit slides in next to me.

"Whoo-eee," Two-Bit exclaims, amusement and exasperation in his eyes. "I just love it when my mom tells me to get a job." He slaps the menu at the aggrieved waitress. "Burger. Fries."

"I take it you're _not_ paying?" She rolls her eyes and walks away.

"You better love it," Steve retorts mildly, "because it's going to follow you to the grave."

"Bring it on," Two-Bit laughs.

An hour later, I begin to get frustrated when Two-Bit tells me about his latest blonde and Steve tells Two-Bit that "clocking her father wasn't the smartest thing to do," but no one tells me about a trial date.

They leave it to me to be the one to bring it up. I tap my knuckles on the table and pull out a smoke. "So," I ask with frustration, "has anyone heard about the hearing?"

Steve is annoyed that I have interrupted him. "No," he snaps. Then he points at me: "And if you know what's good for you, you'll stay away from those horses."

Amazed, I simply stare at him. Soda has a big mouth and I have an even bigger headache. "What-what does that have to do with this?" I stutter.

"Pone," Two-Bit begins, shaking my shoulder gently, trying to end the stare down going on between Steve and I. "You can't blame us. That accident left everyone a little shook up."

"Screw the accident," I groan. "I don't like it there."

"If it makes you feel any better, we don't like you there," Two-Bit says, giving me a smile.

I can't smile back.

I almost tell them. I almost tell them something does not feel right. But I doubt myself and I do not want to bring up things that may not matter.

So I keep my mouth shut.

XXXXX

After Two-Bit and Steve drop me off I enter the house and hear a soft sobbing. The crackling of the record player doesn't greet me, just an empty sadness.

Franny stands in the kitchen, frying chicken and crying. "You're home," she announces blankly.

I suck in a gasp as she turns towards me. The entire right side of her face is turning an ugly purple, faint bruises forming around her throat.

"Franny, what happened?" But I do not need to ask, I already know. Johnny showed me everything I ever needed to know about things like this.

"I fell," she answers automatically.

Tentatively, I take a step forward, the phone catching my eye. I really want to call Darry right now but am unsure of what to do.

I imagine telling him: "Darry, Mike hits his wife," and know that he'd come in a heartbeat.

This thought gives me momentary comfort. Walking around the kitchen table, I stop in front of Franny. "If Mike did this…maybe you should-"

"No!" she bleats. "Absolutely not." She shovels fried chicken onto a dinner plate already laden with potatoes and green beans.

I try again. "Just until he cools off."

Slowly, she turns around and I take a few cautious steps back. Her face is emotionless, her eyes blazing. "Do _not_ speak about this," she warns. Franny shakes her head, her brown curls swinging. "I don't want people knowing. I don't want to hear their whispers."

Her bony hand juts out and grabs my arm. "It was worse enough with Jake."

A voice inside me whispers a warning and I push it away. "But Fran-"

"I'll tell the social workers I saw your brother hit you." Shocked, I pale and she smirks at me, although it is strained. "And then you'll never go home."

Jake's words keep rolling around in my mind: _…she's selfish. You'll see it soon enough…_

Moving closer, she shoves the plate of dinner at me. "Do you understand me?"

I nod at her, my face a mask. I watch her retreating figure leave the kitchen and then I slam my plate of food in the sink. The blue plate cracks, food trickling down and around the thing fractures.

Jake was right: his mother _is_ wrong.

XXXXX

Please leave reviews! Ponyboy does thank you! ;)


	15. Chapter 15

Hey-thanks for the reviews everyone! Much appreciated! Here's another update for you. Please read and review.

Warning: Mature content, cursing.

Disclaimer: I own no characters created by SE Hinton nor the below song.

That said, enjoy!

XXXXX

"When there's nowhere else to run

Is there room for one more son

One more son

If you can hold on

If you can hold on, hold on

I wanna stand up, I wanna let go

You know, you know - no you don't, you don't

I wanna shine on in the hearts of men

I want a meaning from the back of my broken hand

Another head aches, another heart breaks

I am so much older than I can take…"

--The Killers

XXXXX

_Powdery tufts off snow kick up in strange white clouds. The large vastness of the field looms in front of me; alien, daunting. The house behind me does not want me and I do not want it. _

_So, I begin to walk, shivering, barefoot across the icy field. _

_Someone calls out and I stop. I cannot place the voice or the name they are calling. It could be my own…but I cannot remember. I cannot remember so much. _

_I pick up the pace and plow forward. I do a double take as I pass a fountain. It is round and large, the water floating serenely in the shallow pool. Quickly, I ignore it, leaving it far behind me. _

_Tiredness overwhelms me and there in the middle of the field, I don't go any further. The chilly night air does not cool my throbbing head. The wind whips, drying the sweat from my face._

_The voice again. Alert, frightened. _

_That's when I see the blood. Tiny droplets smear the fresh layer of snow. I squint at an object lying on the ground and see a knife someone once held. _

_At the sound of approaching footsteps, I look up, surprised. _

_I frown and then I-_

XXXXX

I wake with a jolt, my English text sliding off my lap and landing with a plop on the hardwood floor. I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to ease my pounding headache. Shifting, I glance at the clock beside my bed. Barely 7 pm.

Through the window, I see that the garage is pitch black; Jacob is not home. I give up on my homework and slide off the bed, instead deciding to go see a movie.

Gathering up my wallet, I realize I have not done something normal – like seeing a movie - in quite some time.

I am in the process of struggling to remember the name of the local movie house when the first crack catches me off guard. I pause, listening carefully, when another sharp crack reaches my ears. They sound like a car backfiring.

Before the loud sobbing reaches my ears, I know what has happened. I slip out of my bedroom and slowly edge down the stairs.

Mike's screams float up to meet me: "This is my house and if you think I'll let you talk to me like that, you've got another thing coming!"

I grip the stair railing as Mike grabs Franny's arm and throws her onto the couch. "I'm sorry Mike!" she yells back. "I'm so sorry!"

He nods, grinning. "That's what I want to hear. That's more like it, Fran." Then the grin is replaced with a frown. "But you're not getting off that easily." He takes a step forward and Franny instinctively winces.

My feet move before my brain can think and suddenly I am in the living room. "Hey – stop it," I steel my voice to stay strong. _Don't be stupid_, a voice inside of me warns.

But I can't watch this.

Mike whips around, his eyes blazing. "You," he accuses nonchalantly. "You broke that plate. That blue. Dinner. Plate."

I blink, finally remembering that blue dinner plate I had smashed in the sink three nights earlier. Perhaps unwisely, I say through grit teeth, "Well, everyone else in this house likes to break things, so I figured I'd give it a shot."

Franny watches me blearily and I eye her with uncertainty; I had a least expected a little backup, a little defense.

Mike cocks his head. "What'd you say?"

"I think you heard me."

"Stupid shit," he growls and suddenly I find myself being shoved backwards. I hit the wall, smacking my head once and bounce off to the ground.

_Just like a ping-pong ball_, I think dazedly, pulling myself to my knees.

"The people in this house," Mike chuckles, "need an attitude adjustment."

As Mike strides toward me I find myself thinking: _Steve Randle wasn't lying; I _am_ a smart ass._

"Well, it only took a week," a voice erupts behind us, "but already you got the moves down right. I'd say just about perfect."

Surprised, Mike freezes and turns to face Jake.

Jake's face is a mask of stone. He walks over to Franny and helps her off the couch. "Mom. Go upstairs and clean yourself up."

Like a drunk, she weaves past me without a word or a glance. Head bowed, tears drying.

"Leave her alone," Jake warns Mike and then looks to me. "You okay, Squirt?"

Nodding, I swallow thickly and stand up. I choose not to say anything; my heart is pounding so loud in my chest I can barely focus.

Mike strides up to Jake and punches his finger into his son's chest. "You let me handle her."

Jake's eyes leave me momentarily. "You're a sorry son-of-a-bitch, you know that?"

Mike reaches out and slaps Jake full across the face. I wince and turn my head away, shocked and disgusted.

And then I flash back to that night when Darry slapped me. How scared I was, how betrayed I felt. Yet, it is extreme and unfair to compare my brother with some bitter man who has nothing better to do with his time than hit his family.

Father and son stare at each other, Mike breathing heavily, Jake alert and unruffled, his left cheek a harsh shade of red.

It is then I know they have done this before.

With one last look at his father, Jake holds out his hand to me. "C'mon. We're getting out of here."

XXXXX

"Are you ok?" I ask Jake, as we climb off his bike. We are someplace in Tulsa, standing in someone's driveway.

"Yes," he says, coming up to me and examining my face, his hands tilting my head left-to-right. "He hit you?"

My head aches from slapping the wall but I wriggle away from him and shakily pull the pack of smokes from my pocket. "Does getting shoved count?"

I watch Jake sigh and swear quietly. "Jake," I begin, "why doesn't she leave? Why don't you go?"

"I was gone. Long gone. I came back when I heard about you. Fran _should_ know better. Shit, I've been helping her out since I was 13."

"What about telling someone?" I protest, not giving up.

A small smile plays on his face. "When two deny and one accuses, the fight's never fair. They always talk about him getting help, but hell may as well freeze over first. Fran doesn't know any other way, neither does Mike."

I must look horrified because he says gently, "Squirt, I'm not excusing them. I'm just explaining it. This isn't a Disney movie. It's life."

"Don't call me that," I snap and take a long draw on my smoke.

Jake shakes his head. "It's a bad deal having you live there. "We'll call CPS tomorrow and-"

"No!" I exclaim.

Panic grips me at the thought of being transferred to another home. Because CPS won't let me go back to Darry and Soda. Not until the hearing and we don't even have a date yet. I'll get transferred and then we'll wait on another hearing date, which will string out my time.

I'll go someplace else, someplace else different and foreign. And despite my current environment, it's at least familiar. It is doubtful, but I could even be transferred someplace _worse_. Painfully, I think of Timmy and his father and close my eyes.

Then my eyes flash open and I ask Jake slyly, "You'll be here right? At least until I get to go home?"

Guilt begins to boil in the pit of my stomach. This is a heavy burden to place on Jake, to place on myself. But I like him and I trust him and I hope he'll help me out.

Jake is angry. "So, you want me to stick around and waste my time watching out for you in hopes that your brains don't get bashed in?"

I cringe, wishing he wouldn't be so graphic, but say with a shrug, "Something like that."

The angry look falls off Jake's face and is replaced with a doubtful expression. "I ain't so sure it's too hot of an idea."

I finish my cigarette and toss it to the gravel driveway. "If it gets me home faster, then I don't care."

Nodding slowly, Jake finally relents. "Ok - for now."

I breathe a sigh of relief. In truth, I don't want to be the first to leave – because I know I can go at anytime. I am worried for Franny and Jacob. _Besides_, I lie to myself, _this will all blow over in time. _

Coming over to me, Jake's hand darts out to grip my arm. "Listen, Squirt. When Mike gets like that again, stay out of his way. Don't try to help. Don't talk back."

"But I didn't-"

At my protest, he tugs on my arm calmly. "I mean it. He'll hit me. But he'll kill you."

I ignore the chill that runs down my back.

Jake eyes me doubtfully. "Just remember what I said and don't test him."

"I got it." I glance around at the rundown house, the junkyard of cars sitting in the driveway. "So, where are we exactly?" After we left, Jake had seemed pretty clear on where he was going.

Fingering something in his pocket, Jake moves towards the front door. "I have to make a stop."

I balk. "Oh, I don't believe this. You brought me to one of your - your-"

"What can I say Squirt? You were cutting into my business." Jake pushes the door open and turns to look at me over his shoulder. "You coming in or staying out here? I ain't got all night." Then he disappears into the house.

I debate for a moment and then follow him in. Drugs or no drugs it's a lot warmer inside. Jake's motorcycle doesn't exactly have a heater.

The party going on inside is low-key. People are laughing and drinking and taking pills. I choke on the smoke and peer through the haze for Jake. He is across the room, in deep in conversation with a blonde girl. I see him slap something into her jittery hand. She, in turn, gives him a wad of cash.

He says goodbye and moves across the room slickly. Passing a cooler full of beer, Jake lifts one, pocketing it just like Two-Bit.

Scouring the crowd, he finds me on his way coming back and grabs my arm. "See? That was easy."

"Yeah, until you get caught."

"Everyone gets caught, Squirt."

XXXXX

To my surprise, we go to my house.

Wind-blown, teeth chattering, I slide off the back of the motorcycle, wishing I had brought my jacket. "Shoot Jake, how can you ride in this weather?"

"Lots of practice," he says with a seriousness that is overwhelming.

Jake stares at my house, all the lights are on. Despite the dark sky, it's still early, only 8 on Thursday night. "You'll spend the night here. I don't want you to come back tonight - I'll pick you up in the morning."

"But…social services-"

"Ain't going to know a thing about this," Jake finishes for me. "Relax, Squirt. Except for a few formal phone calls, they haven't checked in on you yet have they?"

"You should come in," I suggest. "Just for a minute."

Jake cocks an eyebrow. "Introduce me to your brothers? Hell, I always knew you weren't as smart as you looked."

This night has been crazy. I have been thrown into so many different worlds I can't keep track of the time. It feels as if a week has passed instead of just an hour or so.

I smile at him. "Just humor me."

He follows me up the walk. "Squirt, I'm gonna be fine. I've dealt with a lot worse."

Because they're not expecting me, I rap on the door. Three quick knocks. I hear a pounding and then Steve opens the door to a slit. He is surprised, his dark eyes widening slightly. "Kid?"

"No – Child Protective Services," I joke earning a scowl from Steve Randle.

"Hey Soda, Two-Bit," Steve calls out, opening the door wide enough for me to step inside. "Come see what the cat dragged in." Steve frowns as Jake follows me. "Who're you?"

The TV is going full blast, one of our table lamps disemboweled and sitting on the floor, wires and cords hanging out of it.

_What do they do when I'm gone?_ I wonder.

"A friend," Jake tells Steve smartly, "but that may be debatable," he finishes as Sodapop and Two-Bit slide into the room.

"Glory!" Two-Bit says with evident relief, "we thought Darry was home." He grins and waves a roll of duct tape at me. "How you doin' kid?"

"Ponyboy, what're you doing here?" Soda asks me, coming over and kissing my head. My brother is happy to see me but confused at my sudden arrival. "You're freezing." He squeezes my arms, warming them. "Are you ok?"

Then Soda slings an arm around my neck and eyes Jake. This is the first time they have met and I already know that Soda doesn't like him for the riding incident.

"I wanted to see you guys," I jump in. "Jake brought me over."

Soda smiles softly but I can tell he does not like Jake being here. "Thanks," he grunts.

Jake shrugs coolly. "Not a problem." His voice is intense as he says: "I'll pick you up in the morning and take you to school. Bright and early - so be ready."

I see a look pass between Two-Bit and Steve. Soda frowns and glances at me strangely. They aren't stupid. They can tell that something is off.

"Hey wait…" Soda starts as Jake puts his hand on the doorknob.

_Don't push this Soda. Please don't._ "Glory Sodapop," I say, trying to act hurt. "Sorry for interrupting your night."

"No, Pone," he amends. "It's not that… it's just…well, if you're sure it's alright," Soda finishes.

"Right as rain," Jake drawls. "Anyways, don't mind me. I gotta take off; got some drug deals to finish."

I nearly lose it right there, because I know he is probably telling the truth. My face turns red and I instantly double over in a coughing fit.

_Way to win them over, Jake_. But I know he doesn't care. In fact, he's probably enjoying this.

Soda leans over, pounding me on the back. I finish coughing and straighten up, glowering at Jake who merely watches me with amusement. "Here Squirt, wash it down with this." Jake reaches in his pocket and throws me the can of beer he filched from the party.

Soda quickly intercepts it. "I don't think so." He tosses it to Two-Bit who quickly pops the top.

I shoot an apologetic smile at my brother and slowly cross the floor to Jake. "See you tomorrow?"

Jake gets my heavy meaning and zips up his jacket. "Sure thing, Squirt." His face is grim as he says in a low voice. "Don't worry, I know how this works."

XXXXX

Please read and review!!


	16. Chapter 16

Thanks all for reading the last chapter. Please read and review. I should wind this down soon….a few chapters left.

Pardon any typos.

Enjoy!

XXXXX

"I am a man who still does what he can

to dispel our archaic reputation

I am a man who has heard all he can

Cause I don't fare well with endless punishment

Cuz I have been blamed and I have repented

I'm working my way toward our union mended

And we have been blamed and we have repented

I'm working my way toward our union mended…"

-- Alanis Morisette

XXXXX

The second cup of coffee hits me hard; much like a wake-up call that this _is_ my life.

After an uneventful meeting with the lawyer yesterday evening, I had found myself at Kingman's, a sleazy bar in the outskirts of Tulsa. It came as no surprise to me that the bar was located halfway between our house and Pony's foster home.

_What did I think I was going to do? Smuggle him out? _

I ordered a scotch and couldn't drink it. Instead, I stared into yellow-gold liquid and listened to a sauced-up hunter describe his latest kill.

Sodapop bounds into the kitchen. "Hey Darry," he drawls cheerily, rummaging through the cabinets. "You sure got in late." Soda chuckles.

I set my cup down and look at him, knowing Soda thinks I was out on a date. Struggling to keep my voice neutral, I say, "Soda, I met with a lawyer."

Slowly, Soda turns around, his smile gone.

"They're hoping to get us a trial date sometime soon. 'Sometime' being the operative word."

"So, keep our fingers crossed?"

"But don't hold your breath," I growl with frustration. In the last few weeks I have grown increasingly pessimistic about our younger brother's living situation. However, voicing my true feelings is rare and this is a first.

"Dar!" Soda jumps anxiously. His dark eyes flicker to the closed bathroom door. The toilet flushes and I frown. _If everybody's out here than…_

"Soda, who's in the bathroom?"

"We tried to wait up for you last night – but it just got too late…" Soda explains, his face guilty.

"Yeah and I saw what you left me in there." I point at the disorganized living room, now distracted by the mess. Steve's asleep on the couch, Two-Bit in the recliner. Cards and scrabble tiles scattered everywhere. "You're cleaning that up."

I take a sip of coffee, instantly choking on it when the bathroom door swings open and Ponyboy walks out.

"Hiya Darry," he greets me softly. Soda winks at him.

"Pony?" I say as if I have seen a ghost.

My brother grins at me. "The one and only." Then he reaches down and throws the recliner into a sitting position, propelling Two-Bit up with a snap. "Wake up."

"Low," Two-Bit yawns and stretches. "That was low, kid, even for you."

"Surprise?" Soda asks when I glance at him sharply.

"What's he doing here?" I ask in a low tone.

Ponyboy picks this up instantly. "I thought I lived here," he grumbles and retreats to the bedroom.

Watching him go, Soda speaks up, his voice hurt and annoyed. "Darry – he just showed up here last night. What did you want me to do? Make him leave?"

"I told you that didn't I?" Steve grunts from across the room, his eyes still closed.

I pound my fist on the table and shove away my cold coffee. "Sodapop, this is just giving the state a chance to jump down our throats. I don't want to take any unnecessary risks. Especially not right now."

Worry flits across Soda's face. "It'll be fine, Darry."

Ponyboy comes back into the living room, his arms full of some of his books and notebooks. He shoves them in his backpack forcefully. "Sorry I don't come with a return policy."

Soda gives me a hard look. I get up from the table and rub my forehead. "Pone," I begin, trying to sound less harsh. "You know what I mean."

"Yeah," Pony murmurs sullenly and drops onto the couch. Steve grumbles and rolls over on his side to make room for him. "I do."

I glance at the clock. "What about school, kiddo?" I ask.

"Oh, didn't he tell you Darry?" Two-Bit chimes up. "Kid's joined the circus. Quite the juggler he is," he adds in a carnie accent.

"Keep growin' out those sideburns, Two-Bit and you can enter the hairiest man competition," Steve suggests with a slow chuckle.

"Jake's pickin' him up," Soda explains to me, the briefest flicker of annoyance passing across my brother's face.

The roar of a motorcycle engine can be heard from outside and Ponyboy twists around on the couch. He snaps the blinds open. "He's here." Hopping up, he grabs his bag and moves toward the door.

I am bothered to notice that Ponyboy seems both nervous and determined to leave the house

Then, Soda and I frown as we make the paranoid connection between a motorcycle and a horse. Our eyes meet in silent discussion. "No way." Soda shakes his head firmly. "No."

"Pone," I say crossing the room. "I don't want you on that thing. I'll call in late and take you."

Ponyboy has the door halfway open; in our driveway sits a tall, brown-haired guy leaning against his bike and trimming his nails with a blade. He glances at me briefly and then resumes his task.

Stiffening, Ponyboy slams the door shut hard. He turns around. "Darry, you're kidding me right?" By his face, I know he's readying himself to argue.

"Does it look like I'm joking?" I retort and cross my arms. "Put your stuff down."

"Pony, it's just not a good idea," Soda says stonily.

As Ponyboy transfers his glare to Sodapop and I feel for my middle brother, whose guilt resurfaces daily, who cannot be convinced it was not his fault. That thought is always there. Lurking, waiting to interject itself into his life.

Ponyboy's face is red, his eyes furious. "No. Get over it Darry. _Please_ get over it." Pony's green eyes flicker to Soda. "Both of you."

This hurts and Soda winces.

Sitting up, Steve nods. "For once I agree with the kid."

My face grows hot. I don't welcome arguing with my brother in front of everyone. I give Steve a look to shut him up and then I begin heatedly, "Ponyboy, if you're going to argue with me, we can do it on the way to school."

He persists stubbornly. "But Darry-"

Amazingly, it is Two-Bit who is the voice of reason. "Look you two - I know it's part of your daily routine to piss each other off, however, Darry, do you really think it's wise to make the kid here late for class? He didn't exactly get the state's permission to spend the night. What do you think they're going to say when you pull up with your brother?"

Then, Two-Bit laughs as Ponyboy is staring at him open-mouthed. "Don't look so surprised, kid. I can be persuasive when I need to be." His gray eyes glitter.

I see Sodapop scowl but I know Two-Bit is right. There's no way around this. I need to let Ponyboy go so I can get our goddamned trial date.

"Fine," I tell Ponyboy. "But you listen to me. I don't want you on that ever again-"

XXXXX

_Again, another laugh floats into the kitchen. I look up from the bills and smile, glad that my youngest brother is getting back to normal, if there even is such a thing as normal anymore. He hasn't felt well since getting back home, sleeping a lot and talking even less._

_Ponyboy and Two-Bit are outside on the porch. Through the mesh screen door I see that Ponyboy has talked Two-Bit into playing scrabble atop an old milk crate. "That's not a word," Ponyboy is telling Two-Bit. "I'm not even sure that's _legal_." _

_The smile fades as I frown and shake my head, willing myself not to think about what Two-Bit Mathews is enlightening my little brother about. _

_Soda slides into the chair opposite me. "Need any help with those?" _

"_Here," I say, handing Soda a stack of checks. "Sign these." _

_We both drop our heads down and begin scribbling our signatures. After a few seconds of silence, Soda clicks his pen and sets it down. "Beat you," he announces; I still have three more checks left to sign._

_I roll my eyes. Leave it to Sodapop to make everything into a contest or a dare._

_Loud laughter erupts outside. Tilting in his chair, Soda questions softly, "When's he going back to school?" _

"_Monday." I rub my chin, knowing Soda thinks this is a bad idea. "He's going to have a lot of work to make up," I murmur more to myself than Sodapop._

_Soda's face hardens. "He can do it." _

"_Soda," I look at my brother evenly and lower my voice. "I'm think we should tell Pony about Donald Parker." _

_Ever since the phone call, telling us that Donald Parker's jail sentence had been served and he paroled, Soda and I have been nervous and jumpy. And our youngest brother knows something is wrong. _

"_No, we can't." Soda says bluntly, turning a pale shade of green. "Not yet. We agreed-"_

"_We agreed the first time too," I cut in with a shake of my head. "And now it's been almost two years and he _still_ doesn't know about mom and dad. Don't you think he should know?" _

_It makes me queasy thinking that the circumstances have come about the same way as last time: bad news, sick brother._

_Soda sits up straighter and crosses his arms. We have always been partners in this, but with Soda a little bit older and wiser, now we're equals. And when it comes to Ponyboy, he'll have his say. _

"_Yes. He should." Taking a deep breath, Soda spreads his hands out flat on the table. "But it's not the right time, Darry. Not now." _

"_Will it ever be the right time, Soda?" _

"_I don't know," he admits honestly._

XXXXX

I check my watch and take the stairs two at a time. Ponyboy has a doctor's check-up todayand after okay'ing it with my boss I am trying to make a last minute appearance. I whip the hallway door open and take a breather.

At the end of the corridor sit Ponyboy and Jake.

"If you don't want to be here," Jake is telling Ponyboy as I approach, "then let's just go. Nobody's holding a gun to your head."

Ponyboy grins slyly at him and then blinks as he sees me.

"My mistake," Jake drawls. "Enter the gun."

"What're you doing here?" Ponyboy asks in surprise, as if this is not in my job description anymore.

Stung, I try to ignore the slight, instead saying pointedly, "I wanted to make sure you came." I stop in front of Jake but don't offer my hand. "We haven't met. Darrel Curtis."

"Jake Mann." He nods at Ponyboy. "Guess you're stuck here, Squirt."

My brother shoots me a contrite smile. "I'm gonna get a coke. You want anything?" he asks the both of us, anxious suddenly to get away.

"Here." Jake digs around in his pocket and hands him a dollar. "Get me one too." Hesitating a second, Ponyboy finally takes the bill.

As much as I hate to admit it, this simple act of closeness irritates me. It is at this moment, I feel like picking a fight with Jake. I know it is juvenile, but I can't help it.

Pony walks away, touching his temple momentarily and wincing.

"How's he been feeling?" I ask gruffly, sitting next to Jake.

"Headaches and nightmares." Jake shifts, his auburn eyes burning into me. "Today's a little worse than usual, but nothing the good ol' doctor can't fix, right?" He laughs humorlessly.

Jake's tone isn't accusing but my defenses rise. "He needs to come to these, no matter how useless you think they are."

"Why? Do these visits reassure you?" When I am silent, he continues, "Life always happens. As you know."

"I sure as hell don't forget," I growl and rest my elbows on my knees. I had come to spend time with Ponyboy and instead am getting hit with the third degree.

Pony reappears with the Coke's and hands one to Jake. "Thanks, Squirt.

"Don't call me that," Ponyboy mutters uncomfortably.

Jake cracks the top on his Coke and takes a sip. "So, how's that trial date coming along?"

Ponyboy's wounded eyes dart to Jake. "Jake, don't."

Instantly, I sit up. A muscle in my jaw tightens and my fists clench. "It's coming."

I stare at the white wall across from me and hope that Ponyboy's presence stops me from pummeling Jake Mann. My brother watches us cautiously.

Jake raises an eyebrow. "Sure taking your sweet time, aren't you?"

"I'd think carefully about the next words that come out of your mouth," I warn icily.

Ashen, Ponyboy sways slightly and places a hand against the wall for support. "C'mon you guys. Don't fight."

I bite back my harsh words at the pleading look on Ponyboy's face. "Pone," I try to explain, "we're not fighting. We're…"

"…Having a difference of opinion," Jake finishes for me.

Ponyboy's eyes suddenly shoot open wide. His right hand moves up in that all-to-familiar gesture to touch his temple. With dazed and impassive eyes he takes a halting step toward me. "Dar-"

Sensing something is wrong, I half-rise. "Pone, what-"

Then, whites are all I see as Ponyboy's eyes roll up in the back of his head and he falls to the floor with a thud.

XXXXX

"It's just stress, Darrell," Doctor Rice is assuring me as Ponyboy comes to on the exam room table. "Simple as that."

"Right," I snap with frustration. "Real simple." The mere fact that we were already in a doctor's office when this happened has saved me a few gray hairs for the week.

I stare down into by brother's white face as he stirs restlessly "Pony?"

His green eyes flash open. "Who are you?"

I freeze and say a silent prayer that I don't have a heart attack on the spot. As my mouth drops and Ponyboy begins to laugh. "Gotcha."

Letting myself breathe again, I say, "Not funny Ponyboy. Not funny at all." But I am too relieved to be angry with him.

"Where's Jake?" he asks as I help him sit up on the table.

"Waiting outside."

Dr. Rice brushes in and shines a flashlight in my brother's eyes. "Did something happen to upset you Ponyboy?"

I run a hand through my hair guiltily. "It's my fault. I was arguing with someone-"

She cuts me off with a curt nod of her head. "You see, just as I thought. Stress." Dr. Rice rests herself against the counter. "Has anything else been upsetting you these days?"

"Just the usual," Ponyboy tries to joke before I shoot him a stern look. "No," he amends quietly, staring at his hands, which are shaking fiercely.

Dr. Rice gives him a smile, a warning glance to me. "I know you're having some… issues in the family but just try to take it easy. Whatever it is that's exacerbating the stress, I'd suggest you cut it out immediately. Before it gets worse."

She looks ready to say more but is paged across the intercom and Dr. Rice excuses herself from the room.

Something inside is nagging me and I wonder if I've been missing signs all along. My brother seems fine these days, but then again I'm not around him enough to notice, and Ponyboy always was good at hiding things. This hurts to admit, but it's true.

"Ponyboy, are things ok at that house? Is Jake giving you a hard time?"

He shakes his head quickly. "No, Jake's the best thing about that place." Shrugging Ponyboy avoids my eyes. "I just miss you and Soda real bad."

"We miss you too. I'm gonna get you home soon." I reach out to ruffle his hair; it looks odd without as much hair grease as usual, light and soft. "But kiddo if things aren't right…promise me you'll say something."

Ponyboy smiles broadly. "Don't worry, Darry. I will."

But I am quick to notice the lack of a promise and worry begins to eat at me.

XXXXX

Eh.

Please leave reviews – thanks for reading!!


	17. Chapter 17

Hello all! I hope everyone had very happy holidays! I have been away, so sorry for the delay (that rhymes). But here is a new chapter…please leave reviews and I hope you all are still reading : )

XXXXX

"When it's not always raining there'll be days like this

When there's no one complaining there'll be days like this

When everything falls into place like the flick of a switch

Well my mama told me there'll be days like this…"

--Van Morrison

XXXXX

"How's the head?"

Startled, I look up. Jake is leaning in my open doorway. The soft light of the hallway creates eerie shadows on the opposite wall where family photos hang.

From my place on the bed, I scowl at him. "Why'd you have to do that?"

"Do what?"

"Piss off Darry."

Jake scratches his unshaven cheek. "You know I don't like you being here."

I raise an eyebrow humorlessly. "So you thought you'd start a fight? Get me to confess somehow?" Tossing my pencil down, I lean back against the headboard. "Good luck."

"Trust me, Squirt. He'll get wise." Jake appraises me with narrowed eyes. "One way or another."

When I don't say anything Jake clears his throat. "He asked you if something was wrong didn't he?"

Suddenly, my algebra homework seems quite interesting. I bite my lip and drop my head. "Yeah, he did. And I lied right to his face."

"It came easily enough." Jake closes the door a crack and drops into a chair near the untouched desk in my room. "Done it before?" I feel Jake smile as I scribble down an answer to the problem.

"I've been taught by the best," I say and think of Two-Bit.

Jake reaches out and touches my knee. He nods at the phone. "Call them. I guarantee they'll come and get you."

I grit my teeth. "No."

Since last week when Mike blew up, I've stayed out of his way. Kept a low profile. I go to school, the library, the movies. Lately, Mike's rarely home but when he is I don't come inside when his car is in that driveway.

_But you know what they say about pushing your luck_, a voice inside me warns. _It always runs out. _

Jake calls a truce by raising his hands. "Ok, Squirt. Ok." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a wad of dollar bills, thumbing through them and counting under his breath.

I sigh. "Why you gotta do that in here?" He's counting his drug money.

Jake shrugs and fans out the money as if it were a deck of cards. "Somebody has to know about my dirty deeds." His brown hair falls across his face, shading his eyes.

"Jake…aren't you afraid I'll turn you in?" I ask seriously.

His auburn eyes turn towards me, unafraid, unassuming. "What's stopping you?" he replies just as seriously.

I honestly think about it for a second. Then, with a resolution I have never felt before I say: "I've known worse."

But I am not thinking of Dallas Winston when I say this. I am thinking of Curly Shepard and the Brumly Boys who never learn; who are too stupid to learn.

I am thinking of the Socs who shun consequence and those who are different.

And I am thinking of Donald Parker and Mike Mann who make mistakes and keep on making them because they think they have the right.

"Well, that's comforting," Jake snorts. But he is smiling.

Bright headlights flood the bedroom. A car engine idles in the driveway and shuts off. We both hear the slam of the Cadillac. Jake strides over to the window and peeks through the blinds.

"You're doing that wrong," Jake instructs, turning away from the window to bend over my shoulder. He taps his finger against the paper. "That's not a linear equation. It's nonlinear. See?" His finger taps the problem again.

At my dumbfounded expression, Jake raises an amused eyebrow. "What? Think I lack the mental ability to perform math problems?"

"No, I-it's just-" I shake my head apologetically, ashamed at having judged him. "Thanks," I finally manage and snap my mouth shut.

"I went to college," Jake offers. "But I found whiskey and coke much more interesting than History 101."

"Go back," I suggest.

"Maybe one day," he murmurs at the exact same time as the telephone rings.

I pause before answering and then grab the receiver. "Hello?"

"Ponyboy?"

"Sodapop?" Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jake walk to the door, crack it open and listen. Faint banging noises echo up the stairs as Mike begins to yell.

"Hey kiddo, you there?" Soda prods, his voice questioning.

Distracted, I mumble, "Sorry Soda, just doing homework."

"Well, I just wanted to tell you we got a hearing date."

I sit up on my bed, hope and foreboding overcoming me. I forget about my homework and the yelling downstairs. "When?"

"December 27."

"No Christmas miracle huh?" I say, my shoulders sagging. Truthfully, odds are 50-50 that they'll let me go back home, but Soda sounds so hopeful that I let him have it. I need to get out of here.

"Sorry kiddo…but maybe Fran will let you spend it with us. She seems pretty reasonable," Soda suggests lightly.

_Oh, if you only knew_, I think

Soda affects importance. "Darry wanted to be the one to break the news, but I won the arm wrestling match."

I grin. "Somehow I doubt that."

"Ok wise guy, well guess what else?"

"What?"

"I got a raise," Soda says proudly. "No more panhandling." I hear Darry laugh in the background and that sets me off too.

The yelling becomes screaming and suddenly Jake slams the door and my laugh cuts off. I am vaguely aware of my hands shaking.

"Shit, don't tell me I have to go down there and stop this," Jake mutters more to himself than me. His eyes fixate on the oak door as if it's going to cave in any second. He isn't fearful or angry, just tired.

I feel my eyes widen and I cover the mouthpiece on the receiver. "Don't go," I hiss at Jake. I don't want Jake to get hurt; he's been doing this for so long, I know he's bound for trouble.

He whips around to face me. "Stay here, Squirt. I'll be back." Jake disappears before I can argue with him.

I shut my eyes as the room spins and then open them as Sodapop asks: "Pone, what happened?"

Somewhere I am able to find truth in all my lies. "You don't want to know."

XXXXX

The house is eerily silent when I arrive home from school. "Jake? Fran?" I call out to the empty house. Finding no one, I go upstairs, thankful for the silence.

As I round the corner, I hear drawers slamming in Franny's room. I approach the slightly ajar door and push it open a little more. "Fran?"

Mike wheels around, his eyes rimmed red. He has a fistful of clothes in his right hand and a beer bottle in his left. Upon seeing me, he smashes the bottle to the ground. "Where is she?"

I grip the doorknob. "I don't know." Mike has ripped the room apart, suitcases and shoeboxes strewn across the hardwood floor.

"I know you told her to leave. I know what goes on behind my back." Mike advances slowly and shoves his finger in my face. "If you know what's good for you, you'll shut the hell up. Stop filling Franny's head with your bullshit."

Wanting to avoid a fight, I take a step backward and say, "Don't worry. The only person she listens to is you."

_Unfortunately._

This seems to calm Mike a bit as he nods. "That's right." He releases Franny's clothes from his hand and surveys the room. "That's how it should be."

Feeling sick inside, I turn to leave, anxious to get the hell away from Mike. Then Mike's hand comes out and grabs my wrist. He smirks malignantly. "You're just like him; my lousy son." He tugs my arm towards him and then shoves me back roughly into the hallway.

"The only thing lousy about Jake is that you're his father," I snap, reckless with what I choose to say.

Mike's face turns beet red and suddenly he flies at me and slams me up against the wall. I hit it hard and I wince. The wall shakes causing picture frames to crash to the floor around us.

I wriggle beneath Mike's force and end up hitting him in the groin with my knee. Mike yelps angrily. "Stupid shit!" he seethes, gripping the front of my shirt. Suddenly I am tossed across the hallway. My head hits the sharp corner of the oak cedar chest sitting near the stairs.

A searing pain rushes throughout my head, making my eyes water. Stars flash in my vision as I pull myself to my knees. "Oh god," I moan softly, hugging the banister for support. My head begins to pound and tilt, screaming for relief.

"God won't help you," Mike chuckles, standing and looking down at me.

It is then I realize this is like my dream. The dark figure in the doorway.

"No one will help you," Mike repeats, approaching me.

My eyes widen as I realize what he is about to do.

"Wait!" I shout, struggling to stand up. But I am not fast enough and am caught off guard as Mike reaches out and shoves me down the stairs.

XXXXX

There is a coolness on my face that is more annoying than pleasant since I do not understand what is happening. "Honey, wake up," Franny's soft voice is saying, her icy hands patting my cheeks.

I open my eyes and get a view of the ceiling and Franny's concerned face. "Easy," she says as I sit up.

The stairs are in front of me and I frown. I don't know how long I have been out, except for the fact that the house is now dark.

Franny strokes my hair. "You must've fell. Poor thing."

I shift my weight to turn and look at her, ignoring the pains shooting throughout my body. "I didn't _fall_. And you know that."

Her eyes flick nervously to the front door. "He's gone now. He's getting a drink; he's going to cool off. It'll be fine," Franny soothes monotonously. "You'll see."

"Where's Jake?" I ask, standing up gently, careful of my head. I touch my temple and flinch.

Annoyance clouds Fran's voice, her fear forgotten. "Oh, who knows. Out with his buddies." She cocks her head. "You want some dinner?"

Disgusted by her obliviousness, I pull back. "No. No, I don't."

As I trudge back upstairs, I feel the blood drain from my face. I am beat and broken. I know I should find Jake, tell someone, but I cannot. Humiliation is hard to take and I now know why Johnny was too proud let anyone help him.

But I don't want to end up like Johnny; I just don't want to deal with this right now.

XXXXX

I swallow three sleeping pills and search my bathroom cabinet for some aspirin. Pills and medicines spill off the shelf. I stare at the different shaped bottles with an odd sort of deadness.

My motions are calm, numb. Because I know if I think about what has just happened I'll have to acknowledge it. I ignore the phone in my room and grudgingly go to ask Franny for some aspirin.

She is in her disordered room, picking up the remains of what Mike left her. I tap on the door. "Do you have any aspirin?"

Looking up, Franny squints. "I know Jake carries some around with him." She cocks her head. "You go get ready for bed. I'll bring you some up." Franny smiles as if this will make things better.

She returns to my room a few minutes later. "Here you are." Franny holds out a large bottle and rattles it for effect.

I take it and shut the door on her.

The cap comes off the bottle and I swallow five aspirin.

XXXXX

There is a pounding up the stairs, a pounding on my door and a pounding in my head.

I blink away sleep and sit up, running a hand through my sweaty hair. A pleasant drowsiness has settled over me. My head no longer hurts yet I feel slightly short of breath.

Someone sits beside me on the bed. It is Jake. "Squirt," he says, his usually calm voice tinged with worry. He shakes my shoulder. "You awake?"

I grin dopily. "Sure's am." My mouth tastes like cotton balls.

Jake gives me a strange look and then sucks in a harsh breath. "Shit." He snatches the bottle of aspirin from the nightstand. "Squirt, did you take any of these?"

I yawn and he slaps my face softly. "Look at me. Did you take any of these?"

"Yep."

"How many?"

I try to do the math in my head. "Umm…five aspirin. Three sleeping pills. But just three. Darry said only three." I frown, realizing I am not making sense with my rambling but having no control over it.

Panic brews in Jake's voice. "Oh, Squirt. Those weren't aspirin. Goddamn. Shit!" His arms come out and grip my shoulders. "Where'd you get them?"

"Fran founds 'em in your room. Whas wrong?" I blink to keep the sleepiness away and to stop my slurred speech.

_Just wake up_, I tell myself.

"Those were Abbotts – goddamn downers. Christ!" Jake shoves himself off the bed and begins digging through his bag on the floor. "If you took those with sleeping pills…" he trails off.

"What?" I exclaim and try to scramble out of bed. But my legs crumple and I slide to the ground. I rest against the bed and watch Jake search his bag furiously. I yawn again.

Jake snaps his fingers, his face intense. "Stay with me Squirt. Don't go to sleep yet."

Then Jake is pulling me into a stiff sitting position, his arms wrapped around me. "Hurry up. Drink this."

I try to push the unfamiliar bottle away as a warm fuzziness encompasses me. "No. Don't want to."

"Squirt – Ponyboy, drink this now or you're going to OD on this goddamn floor!" Jake yells.

My eyes shoot open; that's enough to make me comply. I swallow a few large gulps of the watery liquid. I choke on the taste, my stomach lurching. I cough once and fling the bottle to the ground. Jake stares at me for a long moment, waiting.

And then I begin to vomit, blackness spilling out of my mouth and onto the hardwood floor. Bent over, my shoulders shake against my body's jerking movements. The minutes tick by and finally I am done.

I fall over onto my back with a shuddery breath, too exhausted and drained to speak.

Jake is counting feverishly. "Eight," he announces with immense relief. "Eight. Thank god."

XXXXX

Read and review. A few more chapters then this bad boy shall be wrapped up. ; ) Anything you want to see? Feel I need to cover?

I did do research – but am not an expert so please forgive the mistakes.

Thanks!


	18. Chapter 18

Happy New Year!

Thanks for the reviews for last chapter…so many good ones.

I own no characters except the Mann's. The rest belong to SE Hinton.

Disclaimer: Mature themes, a bit of swearing.

Reminder: italic paragraphs are either flashbacks or dreams. I think you can figure out the rest. ;)

Other than that, please read and review: )

XXXXX

_**Rubedo, reddening: unification of man with god, unification of the limited with the unlimited.**_

"As the body used to be slow, rough, impure, dark and destructible because it lacked power and energy, so rebirth unifies it with the soul and spirit, vivified and volatile, light and penetrating, pure, refined and clear, overflowing with energy, indestructible and full of energy, and it is able to maintain this."

-Franciscus Kieser

XXXXX

I wake up the next morning to a room reeking of bile and bleach. Sunlight streams through the window and I flinch against its cheerful reminder. I roll onto my side and catch Jake watching me.

He exhales loudly and shifts in his chair. "Welcome back."

"Did I go somewhere?"

"Luckily, no." His eyes are cloudy. "I see you found my stash."

"Not by choice." I sigh and pull myself up on my elbow. I touch my hoarse throat. "What did you give me?"

"Ipecac Syrup. You puked up the eight pills."

I close my eyes. "You always have that around?"

"Only for special occasions." But his voice isn't laughing. Then, I feel the bed shift as Jake sits beside me. "I kept the downers in an aspirin bottle…in the garage," he explains, needing to continue. "I don't know how the hell Fran knew…she must've seen me with them."

When I open my eyes again, Jake's face is pained. "I'm sorry, Squirt. Very sorry."

Something snaps inside of me.

By my own choice I am trapped here. I've gone too far with this to tell my brothers, it's too embarrassing now. I don't even know how I'd begin.

And the one person I'm depending on to help me out would rather be selling smack to addicts.

My face flushes with anger and I can barely look at Jake.

"Squirt?" Jake questions.

"Where were you last night? Dealing? Shooting up?" At Jake's confused face, my voice gets higher, unsteady. "Because while you were out doing who-the-hell-knows-what, your old man was shoving me down the stairs."

Jake goes gray. "Christ. Goddamn bastard." He leans over and touches my shoulder. I cringe and glower at him.

"Squirt," Jake says softly. "Let me see. Lean over." Jake lifts the back of my shirt up and presses down on the tender areas I can only assume are bruises. He swears lowly, his jaw twitching. "This is my fault."

Without thinking, my standard answer bubbles to the surface. "No – it's not," I say haltingly. I shake my head, tugging my shirt down. "It's just-"

"Damn it!" Jake growls. "You're still so goddamn young, so fucking idealistic. Get over it." He gets off the bed and moves away from me. "It's your brother's fault you conked your head and may never be right-"

"Jake, stop it."

He ignores me. "You're not protecting him; you're protecting yourself. But that won't help you. You'll lose every time."

"You don't know what you're talking about," I whisper, pushing Sodapop out of my mind.

"I do know Squirt. You just aren't hearing me. Listen: _It is_ my fault that you swallowed pills you weren't meant to."

I slump in the bed. I touch my temple and find my voice. And because I am angry with him, angry at his truth and my ignorance, I throw out a hard bargain. "Then stop dealing, Jake," I say, suddenly very tired. "Quit it."

He stares at me; his auburn eyes fiery no more. "Cold turkey ain't easy."

I cross my arms and stare back at him, almost hoping – in my resentment – that he fails. "Do it."

XXXXX

Two days later it happens. And I am oddly terrified.

"Darry," I am arguing as I slam the trucks passenger door shut. "I'm not going to the doctor anymore. The visits are pointless." I do not tell him I fear Dr. Rice finding the bruises or noticing the bump on my head that Mike has so nicely given me.

Darry gives me an _oh really?_ look. "You have no say in this," he snaps, already in a bad mood from fighting with a Socy co-worker.

"That's not fair. Can't you just once-" I freeze. The brief walk up to our house, our weekend visit, forgotten.

"Pony?" Darry asks.

The endless hurting, thumping, banging in my head has suddenly disappeared. Just like that, with no warning.

I have become so accustomed to it, that its departure is abnormal. Disconcerting. But there is no mistake. The pain is gone. All that remains is a temperate, almost pleasant fading sensation.

My eyes fly open, palms covering my mouth in surprise.

"Ponyboy?" Darry takes a step toward me, worried. "What's wrong?"

Uttering a short, relieved gasp, I touch my temple in wonder. I tilt my head cautiously. Nothing. It seems Mike and that bump on the head have done me a favor.

Amazed, I grin at my shocked reflection in the passenger side window and begin to laugh.

"Ponyboy, for God's sake!" Darry yells. He grabs my arms and shakes me.

"Darry," I say, looking up into his anxious face. "It's gone."

XXXXX

I have just run a mile without passing out. I run around the Mann's house and take the brief route to the stables, ignoring the wind whipping at my back. I reach the field and breathe heavily.

Leaning over the fence, I stare at the horses. I find Jake's horse, a big, red stallion. Almost as auburn as his eyes.

Snow crunches behind me and it is Jake. I don't turn around, keeping my back to him. We haven't spoken much lately, each of us trying to overcome something deep inside of ourselves. But Jake's been there, watching Mike.

Jake coughs lightly. "It's been two weeks, Squirt."

"What do you want? A medal?"

"Oh, c'mon. No dirty deeds." Jake chuckles heartily. "No dealing."

I turn to face him and raise an eyebrow. "It's that easy?"

"It ain't easy, but it's fair. I'm tryin' ain't I?"

I smile uncertainly, thankful that he has called my bluff but also fearful that he'll go back. The cloudy sky swirls above us, light snow falling.

Jake folds his hands together. "Now, if you'll do something for me." He nods at a pair of reins hanging on the fence. "You should ride."

"No. I can't." I jump down from the fence, prepared to walk away from the stables. "Not yet."

"Shit squirt, I know you're not afraid." Jake gestures to the dirt road. "I just saw you running like crazy down that stretch."

He's right; I'm not afraid. To ride feels almost criminal, traitorous. I don't want to ride when Sodapop can't.

"Give it a shot," Jake prods.

"Fine." I owe it to myself. To Sodapop.

Jake beams and unlatches the gate. I follow him unsurely, yet exhilarated. "You can ride mine: Hector."

Jake goes through the standard motions. Saddle, reins, stirrups. I don't look when he cinches the saddle. "You're up," he declares. Jake watches me as I approach Hector.

"Hi," I say to the horse and tentatively pat his thick mane. Hector snorts briefly, his dark eyes on me. Then, I stick my foot in the stirrup and pull myself up. The horse sways and I grip the reins tightly, eyes closed.

"Go slow," Jake says. "I'll be right here." He gives Hector a light slap on the rear and the horse begins to jog trot.

I am not aware that I am holding my breath until I feel the wind pick up. It washes over me, iciness in its breeze. I exhale loudly and try not to think about the past. I just think about this.

I do a few laps around the field and walk the horse up to the fence. Jake lights a smoke. "Nice work, Squirt."

Smiling, I roll my eyes. "Don't call me that."

A familiar truck rounds the corner, pulling up to the curb. Two-Bit jumps out of the driver's seat, Sodapop out of the passenger's. My brother and friend scour the yard briefly and then Two-Bit points at me.

The smile slides off my face. "Oh damn-"

XXXXX

"_Damn it," I curse trudging home from school. I choke back a pained wheeze and quietly rest against a parked car. Walking: a small effort, a big headache. _

I should have waited to hitch a ride home with Two-Bit_, I think dejectedly. I have been back at school for nearly a month and still feel lost. Not to mention the fact that track practice begins in a few weeks and I better be ready. _

_I touch my temple and pick up the pace. After a few moments, I look up, stumped. _How did that happen?

_Instead of ending up at my house, I inadvertently walked up to the neighbor's doorstep. Something gnaws at me, but I push it away. It's not important. _

_I make a silent note to start my homework before Darry gets home and stop in front of our mailbox. I unlatch the lid and reach inside, rifling through envelopes. _

_Pulling out a bundle of bills and letters, I sort through them as I enter the house. It is then I notice one letter in particular, addressed to a D. Curtis. _

XXXXX

Please read and review!

Thanks!


	19. Chapter 19

Apologies all around! I know it's been so very long and I am sorry! But things happened and I couldn't work up to this chapter. I still don't know how it is. So please review and let me know. Next one will be up soon! Thanks!

Warning: Cursing and some violence. Just an FYI

XXXXX

I took a walk in the rain one day on the wrong side of the tracks

I stood on the rails till I saw that train

Just to see how my heart would react

Now some people say that you shouldn't tempt fate

And for them I would not disagree

But I never learned nothing from playing it safe

I say fate should not tempt me

--Mary Chapin Carpenter

XXXXX

Soda begins to yell. Very loudly. At me.

Being yelled at by Sodapop Curtis – the ever easygoing, ever-calm brother – is something new. Shocked, I take a step backwards, nearly stumbling in my haste. Inside, I am torn: sore at being pulled away from the horse like a child and guilty at having been caught in the act.

"What were you even thinking getting on a horse?" Soda rants, his face screwed up with worry. Behind him Two-Bit approaches, Jake strolling along leisurely.

"Well, you weren't really supposed to see that…" I grumble at the frozen ground.

Soda utters something that's a cross between a sigh and a gasp – more of a choking sound. Then warily, I bring up my eyes and fix them on my brother. Watching Soda is like watching a bomb deconstruct. Silent, benign and then all of a sudden the countdown begins.

He's gonna go off. And I don't even know which wire to cut.

Soda's voice – his tone –scares me. Anger, fear and betrayal all clawing to the surface; the dam finally breaking.

"Glory Ponyboy!" he yells. "What are you trying to do to me?" His breath comes out in soft white clouds.

I put my hands out, trying to placate, please. "Sodapop…I just wanted to show you-"

I am abruptly cut off as Soda wheels around to meet Jake. Apparently, Soda is finished yelling at me. Now, it's Jake's turn.

"And you," Soda snarls and I blink in surprise at the malicious tone in my brother's voice. "You leave him alone. Stop pushing him. He's not ready."

Jake's eyes flick to me momentarily, faint traces of disdain and amusement etched onto his features. "Believe it or not, he got up on that horse of his own free will," Jake replies calmly then smirks. "But whatever you say. After all, you seem to know what's best for him."

I shut my eyes and exhale quickly. "Jake. Knock it off." All of a sudden, I feel more grown up then all three of them combined. Two-Bit stands off to the side silently, but from the pissed off expression he's giving Jake it's clear he'd like to have some words as well.

Soda glares at Jake, his face blackening. "Where in the hell do you get off-"

Surreptitiously, I slide in between Jake and Sodapop, facing my brother. It's obvious they're not going to make friends right now. I place my palms on Soda's chest and press him backwards lightly. "Sodapop, relax. It wasn't his idea. You know that."

Two-Bit laughs mirthlessly. "Not your brightest either, Ponyboy.

I scowl at him, not in the mood. "Who asked you Two-Bit?" Then, I turn back to Soda and eye him painfully.

_He shouldn't be like this_, I think with sudden sadness. And so, I make a choice.

Extreme circumstances bring out the worst fears, the worst sides of people. I am hiding a dark secret and Soda, in all his love for me, has become unreasonable.

For this, I will make him see what he needs to, possibly damning myself in the process. "Soda," I say forcefully, meeting his eyes. "Let it go. Just because you're still afraid, doesn't mean I have to be."

Soda's mouth moves but nothing comes out.

XXXXX

I call later that evening. I tap my foot against the ground nervously and wait for someone to pick up. The first thing I had expected after a shocked Soda had taken off earlier in the day was an angry phone call from my oldest brother. However, as the day passed there was no response. Needless to say, a passive Darry Curtis worried me.

Darry answers with a gruff 'hello?'

I twirl the phone cord around my wrist and lean against the kitchen table. "Hey Darry." I bite my lip and wait for it.

Silence. An odd, awkward silence.

"Dar?" I ask tentatively. Then, I sigh. "C'mon Darry. I know Soda told you." I cannot shake the image of Soda's horrified face searching for something to say to me but finding nothing.

"Yeah. He did. He ain't too happy with you right now."

Frowning, I begin to pace the kitchen. "I know I scared him…but I'm not sorry I-"

Darry chuckles. "Kiddo, I'm not sorry either. It was good for you, Ponyboy. And it'll be good for Soda. He just doesn't know it yet."

I smile in relief. "Thanks Darry."

XXXXX

_The snap of the seatbelt causes me to flinch. I jerk my shaky hands away from the buckle. The passenger side door opens and my mother climbs into the car. "You've done it now, Squirt," she lectures, slamming the door shut. _

_I stiffen. "Wait – what?" _

_She turns her regretful eyes on me. "You heard me." _

_The car pulls out, swerving slightly on the icy road. "Dad," I say. "Drive slow." _

_The driver turns to face me. I bite back a gasp. It is Donald Parker. "Slow is the only way to go," he quips, picking up speed. _

_I sink into the backseat and press my fists into my temples. Suddenly, Jake is there with me. He reaches over and squeezes my shoulders. "C'mon Squirt. Up the ante." _

_Jake clicks off his seatbelt, scooting forward on his seat eagerly. He leans into the front seat, watching as Donald drives._

"_Jake, Jake, what are you doing?" I tug at his arm. _

"_It's going to come so fast Squirt, you'll never know what hit you." _

_My eyes narrow and I briefly wonder if the pun is intended._

_Donald Parker edges the car off the road. I squirm in my seat and press my palms against the windows. The snow is falling heavily, the sky pitch black, except for the large moon. _

_Suddenly, the car fishtails and I realize we are driving on ice. My mother laughs once and I cannot take much more, these hollow people. I throw the door open and dive out. _

_I bring myself up onto shaky hands and knees. A frozen lake is beneath me, the car beside me. Now empty. _

_Sighing, I drape my forehead against the cool sheet of ice. The briefest of noises and I look up suspiciously. Someone is there. A foot moves out of the shadows, stepping onto the ice. _

_I pull myself up gingerly and wait. _It's going to break_, I think without reasoning._

_A thin crack spiders across the ice. "Oh!" I erupt softly, arms coming out for balance. _

_Seeing him, I flinch. _

"_Welcome home," the man says taking a step toward me._

"_This is no home," I respond. My eyes dart down to the ice as the crack expands. I take a step backward, willing him to follow. _

_He does. And the ice creaks with his weight. "There's only one way out." Mike bares his teeth. Small, white daggers. _

"_You're right. There is." I smile back and stamp my foot down hard against the thin ice. It splinters, a loud ripping noise rushing through the cold night air. Then it cracks with a striking finality and I go down with the ship._

XXXXX

We were hit hard.

The blizzard rolled into Tulsa two weeks before Christmas. Crops were freezing, car batteries dying and school was canceled.

Even for this time of year, the weather was not normal. But then again, nothing seemed to be normal these days.

XXXXX

Saturday afternoon rolls in: long, dark and ugly. A horrible disguise wrapped around a welcome blessing.

I lift my eyes from my homework and watch as Franny hums a few chords of an unfamiliar song. "_Your Daddy's rich and your Ma is good lookin'…so, hush little baby, don't you cry…_"

"Who sings that?" I ask, tapping my pencil against the table. My English homework is not keeping my attention.

Because Mike has been relatively calm recently, I've come to learn that Franny is in a good mood when she sings. And when she's in a good mood, it's easy to like her. It's hard to remember that this is the same woman who turns into a punching bag as soon as her husband walks through the front door.

Fran taps the wooden spoon against the mixing bowl and says without turning around, "Billie Holliday. But you're too young to know who she is."

Jake saunters down the stairs, catching the tail end of the conversation. "Ah, but apparently he's not too young to experience the joys of our family."

Franny pinches the bridge of her nose. Then she spins around and points at him with her spoon, globs of batter dripping to the floor. "You know, Jacob, sometimes I cannot even believe you're my son. That I have such an ungrateful child."

"Fran, if you're ashamed of me you have no goddamn right to be. You haven't exactly been the model mother," Jake spits, his eyes blazing. "But don't worry. As soon as Squirt is out of here, I'll be long gone."

"Don't. Call me that." I sigh as a slow uncomfortable feeling brews deep in my gut. God knows the reason why Jake likes to pick fights.

"Well," Franny sniffs, turning back to her doughy mixture. "I should have expected-"

Suddenly, the bowl clatters into the sink. Franny puts a hand to her mouth while staring out the window. Then she pulls herself together. "_Shit_," she hisses grabbing up the bowl and resuming her stirring. Only this time, she does not sing.

I snap my book shut, about to leave the room when Jake touches my shoulder. "It's ok, Squirt." Only I don't feel reassured by Jake's dull, monotonous tone.

"No, we should go," I say lowly. He ignores me and instead glances at the clock on the wall.

Mike strolls through the door and into the kitchen, snowflakes caught in his hair and beard. He blinks at all of us in the kitchen and then smiles lazily. "You cookin', Fran?"

"Yep," she bubbles. "Bakin' sugar cookies for my sugar."

"Now that's a funny thing," Mike begins, stroking his beard. "Because I was down at The Ale House and I heard different." Franny freezes, her back bristling.

"I hear," Mike continues easily, "that you have a lot of bakin' going on these days. Only it's not just for me."

"Now, who is telling silly stories like that?" Franny laughs. But I can see she is trying to think of a way out of her mess.

Not liking where this is headed, I stand up quietly. Jake watches them both carefully, glancing at the clock once more.

"I'm not stupid Fran!" Mike suddenly screams, slapping the wooden spoon from her hand. Jake and I both jump at the sound.

Franny raises her hands. "No! No! You have it wrong!"

Mike reaches out and violently shoves her across the kitchen. Fran hits wall, slides down it and begins to sob in the corner. "How can you love me like this?" she cries into her hands.

Nauseated, I feel my hands turn to fists at my side. I glance at the phone, ready to call my brothers when I get a chance.

"I'm not stupid! I'm not stupid," Mike repeats, breathing heavily. Looking pleased with himself and his crying wife he turns toward Jake.

Jake is standing in front of the refrigerator and when Mike makes a move to open it, Jake does not move. Mike's face darkens but he still manages to sound amused when he asks: "You wanna move or should I move you?"

Jake doesn't answer, instead choosing to block Mike's way.

"You got something you want to say to me, boy?" Mike growls.

A smirk appears on Jake's face. _Oh no_, I think with horror, realizing what that smile means. I dart forward. "Jake, what're you doing?" I hiss, tugging at his arm. "Let's go."

Jake gently shakes me off. "You know what? I do: Go fuck yourself."

Franny moans and bolts from the kitchen.

Mike's face clouds over, turning an angry red. He takes a step closer to his son but points at me. "You and that orphan need an attitude adjustment."

That smirk again. "Adjust this." Jake raises his middle finger in salute.

Mike boils over, launching himself into Jake. But Jake is faster and he manages to land a hard punch on his father's face. Mike rallies and hits Jake in the stomach, knocking the air out of him. Jake doubles over coughing.

Before Mike can advance, I step in front of Jake. "Don't. _Stop it_," I say strongly although I am afraid. But I won't show it. I can't; I will never have eyes like Johnny or eyes like Timmy Cooper. It killed them…in so many ways.

A shooting pain erupts in my skull as Mike slams my head against the wall. With barely enough time to clear the stars away from my vision, I am punched in the face and shoved across the kitchen table. Textbooks and pencils go flying.

A slick coppery taste fills my mouth and I hit the floor with a thud. I land awkwardly on my arm and I feel something crack.

I find myself laying flat on my back and use the brief time to collect myself as the ceiling spins. In my dazed state, I wonder _how I could have let it go this far? How stupid I have been to risk this secret_.

I stop thinking only when I realize that people are yelling, talking loudly.

I cough once, wiping blood away from my teeth. Struggling to sit up, I grip the table's edge with one hand and pull myself to my feet.

My stomach twists and I feel myself pale. There, standing in the doorway is the Social Worker Kenneth Christopher.

"Take a step towards that child," Kenneth warns Mike, who looks like a dear caught in the headlights. "And you won't sit right for a week."

Jake is standing next to Kenneth, a dangerous smile on his face.

"Are you okay Ponyboy?" Kenneth asks, hurrying over. He evaluates the damage and swears. "Jesus Christ." His jaw clenches and he puts an arm around me. "Come on, I'm getting you out of here."

"I take it you'll be calling the police?" Kenneth snaps at Jake, who is now sporting a black eye. Vaguely, I wonder how my own face looks.

As Kenneth leads me through the hall, I want to tell him to not leave Jake alone with Mike. That I am afraid for Jake or Mike I am not yet sure.

"Of course," Jake nods. "Only next time Ken, try to be on time for appointments. We had a 4 o'clock meeting, not a 4:15."

Jake meets my shocked gaze. "No more of this Squirt. You're going home."

XXXXX

Please read and review…

I am not sure about this chapter…but there are at least one or two more to go…so review!


	20. Chapter 20

Hello- please read and review!! Thank you for the comments on the last chapter – much loved and appreciated.

FYI:

1-Some swearing so be forewarned

2- Kind of a cliffy chapter…

That said, read and review please!

Pardon any typos.

XXXXX

I know you're gonna break it

You're gonna break it clean

This frame never could take

A season so cruel and mean

I can't be who I wanna be

These walls aren't mine

Nobody else can make me right

Nobody else can feel this wrong

And in one moment I am light

Another dead as night

I should have known I'd never own

This borrowed home

--Shedaisy

XXXXX

"But-but what about Jake?" I protest as Kenneth ushers me out of the house and into the white van.

"Ponyboy," Kenneth says not unkindly, "I'm sure he'll be fine. Right now, however you're my main concern. Not him." The social worker throws the van into reverse, gingerly scooting it out onto the icy road. Night has already fallen even though it is barely 5 o'clock.

Any further argument dies on my lips as I watch the house I have lived in for the last few months fade away. It is as if someone has pulled me out of a freezing lake and I can breathe again.

The shock is dying off; I'm no longer drowning.

I shut my eyes, exhale slowly and lean back in my seat. Relief settles and I allow myself to enjoy it before thinking of what lies ahead.

Kenneth breaks me out of my daze, his voice tight. "Ponyboy, you want to tell me how long this has been going on?"

"Long enough," I mutter with well-deserved bitterness. I open my eyes and catch him watching me.

Kenneth's mouth forms a grim, white line. His eyes brush over my face and I know what he is looking at. I must not look too hot because he swears. "Jesus." Then, "Ponyboy, why didn't you call-"

Shaking my head, my voice comes out flat and emotionless. "I don't want to talk about it. Not right now. Ok?" This is not a fair response because Kenneth deserves an answer.

Hell, I want one too.

I just wish I had one to give.

"Fine…" Kenneth relents, giving me a strange look. "But you'll have to talk soon – give a statement."

He quiets and focuses on driving, a soft lull in the tense atmosphere. After a few moments he reminds me: "Most importantly you'll have to talk to your brothers. And believe me they won't be nearly as calm as I am."

I grimace, ashamed. "Yeah, I know," I whisper. "Can you just take me home?" The question is a mix of dread and hope.

"I'm afraid not just yet."

Thinking the worst, I groan. "Oh, not back to the-"

"Relax," Kenneth says. "You're not going back to the boy's home. You're going to get checked out by a doctor."

"I don't need a doctor," I mutter.

"Well, whether you like it or not, the hospital is the best place for you. It'll give me time to process the paperwork. I still have to get clearance to place you back in your home. Do you understand that?" he asks in a voice that evidences his concern: that I'm majorally messed up.

I don't answer him, instead choosing to watch the headlights of the oncoming cars. Kenneth grips the wheel tightly as the van hits a patch of ice and skids. "Ponyboy," he says. "Put your seatbelt on."

"I can't," I admit, giving up the fight. "I think I broke something."

Kenneth blinks in surprise. "Oh. Well, I'll drive slow then."

XXXXX

Time alone with thoughts can be therapeutic; time alone with doubts can be dangerous.

Currently, I am trying very hard not to think about what has happened or admit that much of it is my fault. Jake was finally the one to get sick of it and hang me out to dry.

Jake was smart and I am lucky. I think of other names I can call myself but decline the pity party.

Absentmindedly, my hand comes up to itch the cast slung around my neck and rib cage. But right now, the broken collarbone is the least of my worries. I sit atop the examining room bed, perched tensely, listening to the faint conversation occurring outside my hospital door.

Kenneth is on the pay phone. With which brother I am not sure; it is not important. They'll react the same way but believe differently. Soda will refuse the situation while Darry will accept it regretfully.

I try to push them out of my mind but Kenneth's voice keeps them within reach.

He is being vague with the brother on the other end of the phone. Clearly, this is not helping things. Kenneth sighs, frustration evident in his voice. "Mr. Curtis, please calm down. When you get here we can discuss Ponyboy's situation."

I wince. Glory, that's the understatement of the year. The minute my brothers get a look at me, they won't need to discuss anything.

"We're at Mercy General," he says describing the Socy hospital on the other side of town that none of us have ever been to before. Kenneth hangs up with a curt click. Then, there is silence and his footsteps fade, possibly in search of coffee, potential paperwork or a bodyguard.

"Lord, have mercy on me," I croak, reaching out to pour myself a glass of water for my dry throat. But it is hard to get the simple action down correctly. And perhaps it is my shaking hand or my broken collarbone but my aim is off. The pitcher hits the water glass sending it to land on the hard tile below.

"Crap," I mutter and slide off the bed, hoping a nurse does not barge in. Crouched on my knees, I begin to gather the fragments of broken glass. As I catch sight of myself in the shattered particles – the black eye, the bruised cheek – shame and disbelief finally creep up on me.

I haven't had time to think – to believe - in the situation my life has found itself in for the past few months.

Slightly nauseated, my hands fly apart. The glass spills back onto the floor and wearily I sit on the hard tile, staring down at my fragmented reflection.

Somewhere, somehow I took a wrong turn. Only am I just now realizing it.

XXXXX

In the middle of trying to light a cigarette, I pause, hearing a noise in the hallway. Thinking it's Darry and Sodapop, I guiltily search around for a place to stash my smoke.

I ready myself. _But I'm so not ready_.

Instead, the door swings open to reveal a nurse…and Jake. My mouth drops open in surprise. The nurse, hands on hips, stands in the middle of the doorway blocking his access. "Young man," she huffs, "What is your relation to-" She gestures at me.

Jake scowls briefly, before sidestepping her. "My relation is none of your goddamn business."

I roll my eyes as Jake finally chuckles. This time there's a faint trace of a smile on his lips. "But if you gotta know – I'm his fairy godmother."

The nurse – who has _tsked_ and fussed over me since I arrived at Mercy General – looks Jake up and down disdainfully. "Somehow I doubt that," she snaps.

"It's ok." I shrug an apology. "He's always like this."

"Five minutes." The nurse holds up a fanned hand. She matches Jake's scowl with one of her own and silently leaves the room.

Shocked, I sit down on the bed, looking at Jake as if he were a mirage. "What are you doin' here?"

"I got you into this mess, figured I'd see what happens next."

"Yeah. I hear it's gonna be a hell of a show," I snap bitterly.

Crossing the room, Jake comes to stand in front of me. He glances over my face, the cast, and then smiles dangerously, his eyes wild. "Shit Squirt. Does your older brother have a shotgun? Because if he does - with you lookin' like that…let me tell you, he's gonna want to hurt someone. Hell, I guarantee you, he's _gonna_ hurt someone."

At the truth in his words panic rises in me. "Jake, you always know the right things to say don't you?" I snap irately, feeling the blood drain from my face.

Jake raises an eyebrow. "I never said I was an optimist."

"It never hurts to try." Frustrated, I pull out the smoke I have been trying to conceal behind my back. I hold it out to Jake. "Can you light this? Please?"

He flicks open his lighter, the red glow of the flame matching his eyes. Before he lights the smoke, Jake puts his hand on my shoulder, making me face him. "You understand why I did it, right?"

I nod simply. "Yeah. I do."

Jake lights the cigarette but I can't hold onto it because of my unsteady hands. By now I'm too jumpy to smoke it.

"Oh hell, just take it." I shove the smoke at him and we both watch it burn between his long fingers.

"I'm just glad it worked. I nearly pissed myself when that social worker was late." Jake pauses and then adds: "Mike's in jail."

My head darts up. "You called the cops?"

Jake gives me this look: _You think I haven't before? _but says instead, "Yeah and Franny's at a shelter."

He continues, shaking his head. "Whether they stay in their rightful places…I don't know." Then Jake laughs; it is coarse and angry. "Actually, I do know – Mike will be home in a week and Franny will be waiting with open arms."

"I'm done with it. I've done _my_ good deed," he says pointing at me. Jake scratches the stubble on his cheek. "I ain't sticking around any longer."

Anxiety turns in me. Before Jake can get any further, before I can ask him what he means, the door creaks and Kenneth enters, seeming slightly appalled at the sight of Jake in my hospital room.

I see Kenneth's expression and I cringe.

Jake will be the scapegoat. Despite doing his best for me, he will be blamed.

In the end, what matters is that he knew. And knowing costs us a lot.

_In fact_, I think as I eye my friend, _he will be the one Darry wants to hurt_.

Kenneth's familiar glasses are once again perched on his face. He looks particularly agitated and I am beginning to think the glasses exert some sort of cautious boring force over him.

Sighing, Kenneth pinches the bridge of his nose. "Ponyboy, your brothers are on their way." He glances at Jake. "Might want to make yourself scarce."

Jake ignores him. "Whatever you do, Squirt," he says sticking a finger in my face. "Don't lie to 'em. They deserve better than bullshit."

"I won't."

Kenneth clears his throat abruptly.

Then in a low voice - too low for Kenneth to hear - I say: "But Jake, the truth's gonna hurt." At my side, I ball my hands into fists.

"It should," he states simply. "That means you're alive." With this, he ruffles my hair once, making a move to leave.

"Wait," I exclaim, "Where're you going?" Somehow, I think I mean something else entirely.

"I'll be at the bar."

I finally crack a smile. "Jake, there's no bar in the hospital."

He grins rakishly. "Well, hell Squirt. There damn well should be."

XXXXX

Hell yes I'm stalling! The next chapter will be the hardest to write and I want to get it down…so please be patient. Plus, live always intervenes.

At least you have this chapter to tide you over! : )

I hope you enjoyed and please leave me wonderful reviews from wonderful you!

Thanks for reading – so, so much!!


	21. Chapter 21

This chapter is dedicated to AlleyCat for all her help and awesome ideas! Apologies all around for the hideous delay. I have no excuses nor will make no lies! ;)

Please enjoy…

Read on and review!

Disclaimer: Cursing, fighting and all the 'boys will be boys' things we love them for! ;)

XXXX

I see you've got your fist out

Say your piece and get out

Yes I get the gist of it, but

It's all right

Sorry that you feel that way

The only there is to say:

Every silver lining's got a touch of grey

-The Grateful Dead

XXXX

The busy line causes me to growl in frustration and I slam the phone back on the hook. The cop to my left motions at me and I hold up a finger. "It's busy – just one more try."

Unperturbed, the cop nods. "Make it snappy."

I tap the phone against my forehead, wait thirty seconds and dial again. "C'mon." This time it rings and I hold my breath…but no one answers. "Goddammit Darry!" I swear. "Where the hell are you?"

Finally defeated, I hang up, my hand still on the receiver. "Third time's a charm?" I ask the cop hopefully.

"Sorry Curtis," the cop says with a rueful smile, "I ain't even supposed to give you two."

"Can't say a guy never asked," I shrug, as he leads me back to the cell.

"You could talk your way out of anything, Curtis," the cop murmurs thoughtfully. "Just like your daddy."

I smile wistfully. "But you know better."

"Damn right I do."

Our footsteps echo throughout the drafty, old building. When we reach our destination, the cop sticks the key in the lock and swings open the door with amusement. "Don't worry boys, you'll be outta here 'fore morning."

He laughs and eyes my cellmate. "Although, I am sorry you got such lousy company." The cop swings the door shut and locks it as I plop down on a bench in the corner.

"You're breakin' my heart," Two-Bit drawls, clapping his hands to his chest. "C'mon, where's the love, O'Brien?" He raises an exaggerated eyebrow.

O'Brien – the cop – fixes an annoyed stare on Two-Bit. "My _love_ went right out the window when you decided to drag race my cruiser."

"Hey," Two-Bit puts his hands out in defense. "If you didn't want it to be driven, you shouldn't have left your keys in the ignition."

I massage my temples, simultaneously amused and annoyed. "Two-Bit, for once in your life, shut the hell up."

Two-Bit nods curtly. "Sure, Sodapop. I'm just reminding O'Brien about the rules of the neighborhood."

O'Brien takes out his Billy club, dragging it across the bars of the cell. The metallic clanging noise causing me to wince. "You two should know – better than others-…" O'Brien eyes me pointedly, "…that rules don't stand for nothin' on this side of town."

I scratch the back of my head and shut my eyes briefly as an image of my youngest brother floats into my mind. The image quickly scatters as O'brien says, "But you're lucky that I make 'em. At least in here."

The cop pulls out a pack of smokes and tosses it to Two-Bit who catches it with one hand. "And you're lucky your mama was so nice to me, Keith."

I choke on a laugh.

A disgusted look flits across Two-Bit's face. "Too much information, man."

O'Brien cracks a smile. "Relax. Have a smoke, play a round of cards. I'll be back…well…hell, I'll be back when I feel like it." With that, O'Brien shuffles off down the hall.

I watch Officer Ernie O'Brien leave – once my dad's friend and Two-Bit's mom's boyfriend and think: _Cop or not, he's still a greasy one. He's on our side. He'll bust our balls, make an example of us for a few hours and then let us out. It's the way our system works. _

Two-Bit knows this too, because when I look up my friend is smiling. "You know," he says. "I reckon this is even the same cell we had last time."

"Hey," I hold out my hands. "At least we're in here for bigger and better things this time. Not doing flips in front of the Piggly Wiggly parking lot."

Two-Bit sticks an unlit cigarette in his mouth and raises that famous eyebrow. "Amen to that." He holds the pack out to me and I take one.

I roll it between my fingers, staring at the white walls of the cell. "Although, I gotta tell you Two-Bit…never thought I'd be in here again." Seriousness settles over me. "I thought we were smarter than this. It wasn't in my plans tonight to get popped for pulling a stunt a 15-year-old kid could've done."

A frown briefly crosses Two-Bit's face, but he recovers quickly. "Well, my unenlightened friend, that's the difference between you and me. I always knew we'd be back."

I shake my head, now truly agitated. "Shit Two-Bit, you could've left me out of it."

Awkwardness fills the small cell. Somehow the past keeps rearing its ugly head; we're right back where we were a year or so ago. Same mistakes, same luck.

The hiss of Two-Bit's lighter breaks the silence. As his cigarette burns, Two-Bit asks, "So, how'd the phone call go?"

"I wouldn't know. No answer."

"Superman ain't home?" Two-Bit asks in surprise.

"I don't think so," I say with some unease. Someone _had_ been at home, on the phone and then suddenly weren't. _Something's not right_, a voice inside me whispers.

Two-Bit turns aghast. "He ain't out actually dating is he?"

"Believe me, right now Darry ain't got time for dating. The only thing he's got time for is those goddamned court dates." I rub my eyes, knowing I sound bitter.

"Shit!" Two-Bit suddenly exclaims, making me jump. He tosses his smoke to the floor in frustration. "Shit, I didn't even think about the kid. The state's gonna be all over this. Christ, Soda, I'm sorry, man."

The worry in his voice is evident and I attempt to reassure my friend and push down my own similar thoughts.

We had been stupid tonight. In an attempt to take my mind of Ponyboy's situation and the upcoming trial, Two-Bit and I had hijacked a cop's car and dragged race down the strip. Not necessarily a covert operation.

Inwardly, I groan, knowing Darry's gonna have my ass – screw the fact that I'm now 18.

"Don't worry about it Two-Bit. You heard O'Brien, the fuzz ain't gonna press changes. And what more can the state really do?" I say with confidence I don't believe.

"Good point," he agrees doubtfully.

XXXX

20 minutes later, O'Brien is back, accompanied by another cop and a guy in cuffs.

"He's in here with you," O'Brien tells us, pulling out his keys. The prisoner has an odd sort of smile on his face as if he's laughing at the situation. O'Brien is staring at me strangely.

Two-Bit looks up from our makeshift poker game. "Whoa - what about over there?" he complains, pointing to an adjacent cell.

O'Brien glances over his shoulder. "Morrison doesn't exactly play nice with others," he tells us, unlocking the cell. "And we're full up down the hall. Looks like it's your lucky night, Keith."

Two-Bit scowls. "Yeah, that's what Chrissy Perkins told me right before vomiting onto the dash of my truck."

I smile, remembering that night. "Serves you right – you bought her the alcohol..._Keith_."

My friend points at me. "Traitor."

The other cop snorts in laughter, cutting off abruptly as O'Brien shoots him a dirty look. "Can it, Floyd. Don't encourage these two."

Floyd, once again all business, nods briskly. "Yes sir."

O'Brien swings the cell door open, its hinges creaking. "In you go," O'Brien growls stiffly, shoving the prisoner in. "Cool off. Sand Springs County may not have room for you – but I don't want you either."

"Since when is it a crime for a man to discipline his family?" the guy laughs as the door is shut and locked.

O'Brien's gaze is fiery as he glances at the guy and then me. "Nearly killing them in the process defeats the purpose. Sober up and shut up, Mike." And with that, Floyd and O'Brien disappear down the hall.

"I barely touched them," Mike yells at their retreating figures. "I'm innocent on this. If anything I beat a little sense into that stupid kid. He comes into my house and tells me what to do? Not me," he whispers, resting his head against the metal bars.

Two-Bit's eyes widen and he mouths the word _Crazy_ to me. I nod and mime drinking from a beer bottle. I can smell the alcohol on this guy a mile away.

Mike turns around and eyes us. "What you two doin' in here?" He smiles maliciously and sneers. "Lift a comic book?"

"Cop car," I retort, meeting his gaze. Instantly, I know I do not like this man. Something is eating at me but I can't place it.

Two-Bit affects his best John Wayne bravado. "Running from the mob can be a pretty tiring business. Why just last week I was telling my friend Lazy Eye Jim over here," Two-Bit gestures at me, "that we really need a new occupation."

Mike's eyes narrow. "I have a son about your age. All of youse are smart asses and addicts."

"Uh, I take it there's trouble on the home front?" Two-Bit asks, baiting the guy. I shoot him a warning look but he ignores me.

_So help me God, Two-Bit_, I think. I_f you get me into a fight…you're on your own._

Surprisingly these words relax Mike. His fists unclench and his eyes take on a distant look. "My wife – the bleeding heart – takes in some retard kid off the streets. So now I got him, my son and my whore of a wife on my case all the time."

"Can't a guy just catch a break?" Two-Bit murmurs in mock sympathy.

"Listen, listen to this," the guy brags, apparently liking having an audience. "The kid can't even ride a horse right."

I feel as if I've been hit with a baseball bat. For a moment, the world sways in and out and my lungs can't breathe. _He's talking about Ponyboy_, a voice says. My brain brushes back over Mike's vague conversation with O'Brien and refuses the evidence.

_No_.

I flash back to the accident, the hospital and Donald Parker: thoughts that I will never be able to erase. Bile rises in my throat and I shake my head slowly, willing it back down. Someone is staring at me and it is Two-Bit. We lock eyes; Two-Bit's face mirroring my own: shocked, pale.

"Son of a bitch," Two-Bit swears hoarsely.

Then I forget the past, come back to the present and this is where I begin to clench my fists.

Mike continues, oblivious to what has just happened. "So he falls off this horse and the next thing you know the kid's dumber than a doorknob. No one wants him so it's up to me – _to me_ – to set him straight."

I hate myself as I calmly ask, "What did you do?" My voice comes out flat and emotionless. I want as much information as I can get so I know just how hard to hurt this guy.

"It wasn't the first time…but I broke him. Tossed him ass over teakettle." Mike punches his fist into his palm and whistles. "Head hit the wall with a bang and I swear to God I got a pretty good punch in there."

I make a funny noise in the back of my throat and my hands begin shaking.

Mike paces the short length of the room, his voice anxious and excited. "I was really layin' a beating on him when the goddamned cops or social worker or whatever the hell you want to call them walks through the door and breaks up the party. If it weren't for the interruption I woulda killed the little-"

And with that, I can't stand anymore. I launch myself up off the bench and onto Mike. My fist connects with his jaw, slamming his head back into the metal bars.

"I'm gonna kill you," I yell, as an anger I have never experienced before snakes its way through my veins. I hit Mike again and a crunching sound tells me I have just broken his nose.

"Fucker!" Mike bawls, digging his knee into my stomach. Caught off guard, I double over and it's just enough time for Mike to slam his handcuffed fists into the side of my face. I stumble but recover quickly, wiping blood from my cheek.

Before Mike can advance on me, Two-Bit steps in, knocking him flat on his back. "Oh no, you don't," Two-Bit hisses.

Dazed, Mike looks up at us and slurs, "What's wrong? Don't like the story? Pussies."

"Shut up," I snap, kicking Mike in the ribs.

"Let me tell you a story," Two-Bit says with a grim face. "You just got put into the cell with the wrong people."

Livid, I kneel down next to the man and memorize every detail of his face, wishing I could do more damage but knowing I can't. There's something trembling in my voice as I say, "That _stupid_ kid is my goddamned brother and if I didn't want to make it out of here tonight, I really would kill you."

Drunk and hurting, Mike just stares at me blearily.

Standing up, I rub my jaw and look at Two-Bit. "C'mon. We gotta get out of here. We gotta see Pone." Then my voice seizes up in pain and I cough into my fist. "Shit," I say in a soft voice.

Two-Bit squeezes my shoulder, his face unnaturally gray. "It'll be alright Sodapop."

"It better be," is all I can say.

We both start as O'Brien strolls around the corner. "Christ!" Two-Bit exclaims, trying to cover for us as O'Brien's eyes dart down to where Mike lays on the cement floor. "O'Brien, where the hell have you been? You locked us up with a crazy."

"Generally, that was the plan, Keith." O'Brien unlocks the cell door and steps aside. "Nice work boys. Go on. Don't say I never did nothin' for you."

XXXXX

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	22. Chapter 22

So come on kid, look at what you did

"So come on kid, look at what you did.

I don't know if you meant it, but you did yourself in and

I was even havin' a good day when I found out we lost you."

--Rilo Kiley

XXXX

Hi all! Sorry for the long hiatus. I'm not dead, I promise you! ;) I owe you a long chapter...so please review!! You readers are the best!

Disclaimer: Swearing in this chapter.

XXXX

"_Where did you go?" she asks, turning around in her seat to face me. _

_I frown and scratch the back of my head. "I'm not too sure." _

"_But you're here now." It's more of a fact than question._

"_Off and on." _

"_That's a good thing. You were falling behind." My mother sighs and checks her watch. "He's late. Your father's always late." _

"_Just like Sodapop." _

"_Yes." Her eyes light up. "Just like your brother. How are they these days?"_

_I frown again. "I don't know…"_

"_Don't you remember, Ponyboy?" _

"_No, I remember…" I begin slowly. "I've just missed them…" _

"_Well, they'll find you. They always do." Her fist comes out to unfurl a set of car keys. "Will you drive?" _

_Shifting, I put a hand on the door handle. "I can't. I need to leave." I climb out of the back seat only to stand on the shoulder of the highway, a rickety guardrail behind me._

_My mother stares at me and places a palm against the icy window. Despite the fact that the window is rolled up, I can still hear her clearly as she says: "Ponyboy, before you jump, make sure you're-"_

XXXX

"-You're alright," a voice says.

I must have dozed off because the next thing I know I'm opening my eyes and Darry's standing in front of me.

Forgetting where I am, I jerk up and away from him. I don't get very far because of my arm. My eyes go wide with the pain and a strong hand keeps me from floundering around any further.

"Pone, calm down. It's me."

The familiar voice settles me and blearily, I focus on my brother. The phone call must have caught Darry off-guard because his shirt is half-tucked into his jeans and he isn't wearing a watch – something he's never without.

Then, I notice two things and I don't know which one is worse: the way Darry's face looks right now, or the fact that Sodapop isn't here.

I choose to focus on the latter. "Where's Soda?"

Clearing his throat, he runs a hand through his messy hair. "I don't know Ponyboy. But I'm sure he's fine." His unsaid accusation hangs in the air: _which is more than I can say for you._

Sighing, Darry pulls a chair up to my side of the bed and sits down. His hand comes out and cups my face, turning it from left to right. I force myself not to flinch or pull away; this is embarrassing enough.

His eyes move to my cast. "What'd you break?"

"Just my collarbone." My feeble attempt to reassure him that it's not anything serious falls on deaf ears. Darry shoots me a dark look and drops his hand from my face.

"Boy oh boy, kiddo, do you have a lot of explaining to do," he says tightly, crossing his arms against his chest.

"Yeah. I know," I mumble.

He stares at me a minute before asking, "Do you _also_ know you could've gotten yourself killed?" The anger and concern warring in his voice is evident.

Something inside of me dies and I avert my gaze. I don't say anything. I don't think I can.

But silence doesn't sit well with Darry. Neither do half-assed explanations.

As if to prove his point, Darry springs out of his chair with such force, that it overturns itself. I bite my lip and watch him with wide eyes.

_Shoot, I really should have said something. _

Darry begins pacing the room, struggling for words – for composure. And then, giving up the fight, he finally booms: "What on _earth_ were you thinking?"

I want to agree with him. I want to tell him that I had a plan that obviously didn't work out the way I had hoped it would go.

_That I didn't think it out all the way…that I kept quiet for all the right reasons. _

But all my thoughts – all my rehearsed explanations - will not make a difference. Because in the end, everything turned out wrong.

_I_ was wrong.

"Ponyboy," he entreats. "Did you think you couldn't come to me and Soda? That we wouldn't believe you?"

I shake my head furiously, hating his assumption. "No, Darry that's not -"

He takes a look at me again and his face clouds. "Goddamn, I can't believe this," he swears bitterly, sounding more like Dallas Winston then my oldest brother.

"Just tell me-" Darry suddenly says very loudly and then catches his tone as I shrink away. He takes a breath, putting his palms together and touching them to his mouth. He tries again. Much more calmly. "Just tell me, Ponyboy…Why? Why didn't you say anything?"

"I wasn't – I didn't-" My mouth moves but nothing comes.

Then just when I think the room will close in on me and my words will choke me, I finally manage: "Darry, I-I wanted to. But Franny…" I shake my head, disgusted. "She was gonna ruin everything. Lie and tell the state that you and Soda were the ones hitting me."

Darry winces and I plow ahead before he can interrupt. "Darry, I couldn't let her say that. I just wanted to get the court date and come home."

Darry, who has changed about three different colors since entering the room, is now an ill-looking shade of green. "Ponyboy, I don't give a good goddamn what she said. That's not an excuse. You should have told me."

He turns away from me, rubbing his forehead. "I knew something was wrong – when the phone calls stopped…you were too quiet." Darry swallows thickly, his defenses down. "I was afraid of this: the accident, the secret with mom and dad, you getting taken away. God, I didn't want this to happen; I didn't want to lose you in the process.

My stomach rolls and drops as the icy feeling becomes too much to stand. I drop my head and fiddle with my sling. In a low voice I say, "It's not your fault. I know I should have told you. I was stupid." My eyes sting and I blink furiously.

This was harder than I thought.

A sick smile curls at Darry's lips. "But it _is_ my fault, Ponyboy. You're my responsibility. You're stubborn, you're a smart kid, but I mean this when I say it; you really got to use your head. You're growing up, but kiddo, until then, you gotta do what I say and tell me when something's not right."

Bending down, Darry returns the chair to its rightful place and sits back down next to me. Reaching out to grip my one free hand, he says: "I'm just glad you're ok. That's the most important thing."

Mutely, I nod.

There's a tap on the door. Darry pats my shoulder and stands up. "We'll talk some more at home."

He cuts off, bristling as Patty Strickland pokes her blonde head in. "Ponyboy, I just wanted to see – oh my word," she exclaims catching a glimpse of me. Her hand flies up to her mouth, her eyes darting to Darry and then back to me.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, sick of all this.

For once, Darry doesn't chide me for my lack of manners. "What do you want?" he growls, protectively moving closer to me.

Patty coughs and ruffles through her briefcase, bringing out a set of papers. She ignores Darry completely. "Ponyboy, I was made aware of your condition. While extremely unfortunate I've come to take your statement so that we can-"

Next to me, my brother tenses. I can feel the heat radiating from his frame. "I think the statement's pretty clear on his face don't you?"

"Well, yes, Mr. Curtis, but as I was saying, I need to get the facts so that we can rectify the situation immediately by reassigning your brother to another foster family."

I blink and sit up straighter, discounting the pain shooting through my body. "No – no, I'm going home." I tug at Darry's arm. "Darry, she's making a mistake, they said-"

He rubs my back. "Shh, don't worry. You're not going anywhere."

Patty cocks her head sympathetically, as if I am the one who is confused. "This was an unfortunate incident, yes, but I assure you it will not happen again."

"You're right, it won't. This wouldn't have happened had he been in his _home_," Darry growls, his eyes blazing. "You can stick your 'reassignment' up your ass. I'm taking my brother home."

Patty smiles, saccharine. "Mr. Curtis…"

"What're you doing Patty?" Kenneth asks, surprising all of us. He shuts the door quietly behind him.

"I'm reassigning Pony-"

"There will be no reassignment Patty."

"Oh but-" she protests.

"We're not always in the right, young lady," Kenneth sighs, silencing Patty. "We act in the best interest of the child." He nods in my direction. "And it's in _this_ child's best interest to be with his family."

"Darrel, on Monday, I'm making the recommendation to the court that you take back – and retain – custody of Ponyboy." Kenneth sticks a hand out. "I sincerely apologize for this inconvenience."

Everyone in the room knows the apology is meager. But anything more would be an insult, because how can you really apologize for something like this?

Acceptance is hard but Darry does it. Shaking Kenneth's hand he says, "I appreciate it."

XXXX

The short walk from the hospital to the parking walk is long and painful. Darry keeps a firm hand on my shoulder, guiding me along. Briefly, I wonder if he is reassuring himself that I'm here; it's over.

"Feelin' ok?" he asks.

"Yeah, Dar."

As we round the corner, Steve Randle is sitting on the tailgate of Darry's truck.

Surprised and slightly woozy from the pain medication the nurse has given me, I bleat again, "What're you doin' here?"

Upon seeing me, shock does a dance across Steve's face but is instantly replaced with a scowl. He slides off the truck's tailgate. "I'm cruisin' the place for chicks. What the hell do you think I'm doing?"

Then Steve's face clouds again as he steps closer, scrutinizing me. Steve shakes his head. "You stupid little shit."

"Steve!" Darry warns, glancing at me.

Steve discounts Darry. "Off all the fucking stupid things you could do…" he gripes, looking as if he wants to swat me on the back of the head. He doesn't – instead choosing to glare at me. "This ain't gonna be pretty; Sodapop is gonna kill you."

I take a step backwards, shocked at the anger in his tone.

"Enough!" Darry barks, frustration in his voice. "Steve, if you wanna help, shut the hell up."

An awkward silence settles around us. Then the moment passes.

"Have you heard from Soda" Darry asks, patting his pockets for the truck keys.

"I hate to tell you this Darry," Steve says trying to hide a jealous grin. "But your _other_ brother's in the cooler."

Having finally found his keys, Darry drops them. "What the hell happened?"

I bend over to retrieve them, swaying slightly as I come back up. "Easy, kiddo," Darry whispers.

Steve shrugs. "Curly Shepard told me that he and Two-bit got picked up for stealing a car."

Steve pauses and then continues, "A cop car."

I grin drowsily. "So, Soda's in jail and you're already slumming with Curly Shepard?"

"Can it, kid. You ain't one to talk," Steve snaps. "I've seen-"

"Making a break for it already, Squirt?" a soft voice drifts in from out of the darkness. It's Jake, sidling up to us.

"Where'd you go Jake?" I ask, making a move towards him. Darry sticks an arm out, quickly putting an end to my exit. I glower at my oldest brother.

"Told you I'd find a bar." Jake holds out a flask.

I smile a lop-sided smile, courtesy of whatever drugs the nurses have put me on. Although, I feel slightly on edge, as if I could jump out of my own skin. This night has happened much to fast for me to catch up with it.

Darry is shaking his head. And as I take a look at his face, I can tell that this train is going to start coming off the tracks pretty damn quick.

My brother instantly makes the connection. "You knew about this." Darry fires at Jake without missing a beat. "How irresponsible, idiotic, _insane_ do you have to be to let this happen – to leave my brother there with those _people_?"

With each verbal slap I cringe. But I keep quiet, knowing there is nothing I can say to silence my brother or Jake. They'll have their say. Yet, only I know that each of them have truly done their best; only _I _can see the others' side.

"I was there," Jake replies. "Squirt knew what he was doing."

"You don't leave it up to him," Steve interjects hotly. "Christ, he's a kid."

"Either way, I'd say it worked out fine for you in the end, didn't it?" Jake points at me. "He's going home. Done deal."

Horrified, Darry stares at Jake. "Yeah, it's that simple."

"Darry," I hiss. "Leave it."

But he doesn't. I have never seen my brother this angry. This violent. He looks like he could kill most any man.

"You're lucky this is all that happened." Darry gestures at my sling while I stare at the ground shamefaced. "Or you'd be bleedin' all over this parking lot right now."

Impassive, Jake shrugs. "Can't say I'd do anything different in your situation."

Choosing his next words carefully, my brother says to Jake: "Stay away from him."

I hold out my one good arm in appeasement. "No, Darry, that's not-"

"It's ok, Squirt," Jake speaks easily. "I've gotta be on my way."

"Ponyboy, we're going home," Darry says in a low voice. "Get in the truck."

Behind me, I hear Steve open the passenger side door. "C'mon kid."

Now sick to my stomach for more reasons than I can count, I no longer have the energy to argue with Darry. He deserves to win the fight tonight.

Then, as I turn and am about to climb in the truck something hits me hard: _He's going_. I spin around. "Jake!" I yell. "You don't leave, you hear?"

He smiles and says: "Squirt, I'm surprised you noticed."

XXXXX

Soda has kept our room oddly clean since I've been away. As my eyes swipe across it, I realize I have left all of my personal belongings back at Jake's.

Most importantly, Johnny's copy of _Gone with the Wind_.

And there's no way in hell Darry's going to let me go back there.

With wobbly legs, I sink onto the bed. I know too many things right now. Too many things that I would gladly erase from memory. I bury my head in my hands and sigh.

The front door slams and I jump, looking up. Steve and Darry's muffled conversation comes to a halt.

Soda's tense voice floats throughout the house. "Where is he?"

"He's in the bedroom" Darry answers tiredly. "And I know where _you've_ been, little buddy."

"Darry, I-"

"No, Soda. I don't want to hear anything right now. I don't want to know why you lifted a cop car, how you know about what happened to Ponyboy, or why your face looks like that. I'll deal with you later. Just go talk to him."

Soda's a whirlwind as he whips our bedroom door open.

"So, how was jail?" I ask point-blank.

Soda stares at me a moment; both of us blinking at the others face. Soda has a busted lip and a bruise across his cheekbone. My own face mirrors his own, although his is not as worse as mine.

Soda recovers and slams the door shut. "Don't get smart. Besides that's the least of my worries right now." As he says this, I can see his face trying not to crack. In one quick stride, he crosses the room. "Oh, Pone. Why…Jesus, why didn't you tell me? Anyone?" Careful of my sling, he throws his arms around me, hugging me to his chest.

I don't speak for a few minutes. But Soda is patient - he can wait for my truth. Kissing the top of my head, he releases me. Finally I admit, "I thought I could handle it."

"Oh honey…" he exhales. "You can't take risks like this." He scoots closer and smoothes my hair back.

"I'm sorry, Soda." I take a shuddery breath and speak without thinking – my favorite pastime. "The only good thing that happened is the smack on the head that Mike gave me. I don't forget anymore."

_At least in that sense, I am back to normal._

Soda pales, an ill smile overcoming his wan face. "That's not funny," he says, bowing his head. Soda emits a coarse, guttural laugh and covers his eyes. His shoulders shake. He laughs again.

After a few moments pass, I ask softly, "How come you're laughing if it ain't funny?"

"I ain't laughing Pone," Soda says, taking a shuddery breath. He swipes at his eyes and clears his throat. "I know what you were trying to do kiddo. But you were wrong. So wrong."

He scrutinizes me closely and then sighs. "What are we going to do with you, kiddo?"

"Trade me in for a newer model?" I joke lightly – but honestly consider the idea myself. I'm not exactly making life easier on my brothers.

Soda smiles sadly. "Not a chance."

XXXXX

One chapter left! Everything will be wrapped up. Thanks for reading…I hope I did this chapter justice. Sigh

Pardon any typos.


	23. Chapter 23

Last chapter everyone. I'm sorry it took me so long to write this, I just wanted it to complete the story in a fitting way. It's extremely long so hopefully that makes up for my hiatus.

Please leave reviews – I greatly appreciate them, especially after wrapping this story up. This has been my most favorite story to write and I hope everyone enjoyed.

Special thanks go out to AlleyCat who was my muse and who threw some especially great ideas my way!

Enjoy.

XXXXX

You're the lucky one so I've been told

As free as the wind blowing down the road

Loved by many, hated by none

I'd say you were lucky 'cause

You know what you've done

Not a care in the world, not a worry in sight

Everything is gonna be alright 'cause

You're the lucky one

You're the lucky one always having fun

A jack-of-all-trades, a master of none

You look at the world with a smiling eye

And laugh at the devil as his train rolls by

-Alison Krauss

XXXXX

"The kid doin' alright?" I overhear Two-Bit asking Sodapop a few days later.

In the short time since I've been back home things have been weird. Weird in the _this-has-not happened_ sense. Everyone's thinking it but worse still, is that I have to _feel_ it. Stares, silence.

No one knows how to make the first move back to normal.

Despite the frigid temperature, Soda and Two-Bit are sitting outside on the front porch, chain-smoking. It's nearing dusk and the faint glow of the setting sun casts a soft light on their profiles.

Softly, I pad across the floor in bare feet. I shiver but have more important things to do than stay warm. I pause near the half-cracked window to hear Soda's reply.

"Yeah, I think so." Soda scratches his head. "He don't say too much about it."

"Probably ain't much more to say," Two-Bit says and I am surprised by the truth in his words. _I'm sorry_ can only go so far.

I can tell it has shocked my friends. That what Johnny and Steve experienced in their homes has come into ours. They didn't think it would cross that barrier. I was supposed to be safe.

"Oh kid," Two-Bit moaned the next day after seeing me. Speechless for a few seconds, he had finally pulled himself together and ruffled my hair. "Welcome back to earth."

Two-Bit lights another smoke. "How about ya'll? You and Darry?"

Soda utters a short laugh. "Darry's raising all kinds of hell with the state. And I – well hell, I'm just glad I made it through the trial." He leans forward and lowers his voice, causing my ears to perk up.

"Two-Bit, I swear to god if that son-of-a-bitch had showed his face…"

At first, I think Sodapop means Jake but as he continues I realize he means someone else.

"…I'd have been all over him. Worse than before."

"I know." Two-Bit speaks calmly.

Soda shakes his head furiously. "I hate him. I hate Mike even more than Parker." His words come out sounding half-ashamed, half-relieved. He sighs. "Donald Parker don't have anything on Mike."

Soda pauses and waits for the heaviness of the conversation to clear the air. When it does he speaks again and this time I can hear the grin in his voice. "We did good that night didn't we?"

"Sodapop, good ain't got nothin' to do with it. I swear stealing O'Brien's cruiser was the _best_ idea I ever had."

"I never did thank you for that…"

Two-Bit holds up his hands. "No, need. Just remember this the next time we're in jail."

Soda smiles. "Deal."

The light shoots on in my head as the jigsaw puzzle falls into place. I shouldn't but I feel sheltered once again. Somehow Soda and Darry had failed to mention that Sodapop had met Mike while in jail. But I make myself calm down; _you did the same thing_, I think.

I remember how tense Sodapop had been and how guarded Darry had been acting at the trial, and thinking that the reason for their nerves was that they were worried I'd be stuck at Tulsa Home for Boys through some fluke in the system. But they weren't. Sodapop was looking out for Mike and Darry was looking out for Sodapop.

The only one to show at the trial had been Franny. She had sat watching silently, her hands tugging and tugging at a handkerchief. Finally, only when the judge had charged Mike with assault and battery had she broken down, crying for her lost husband.

_If they can find him_, I think sourly. After being released on bail, Mike had disappeared.

"You know," Two-Bit says suddenly. "I'd rather have had it happen to any one of us. After Johnny, Dal…hell, even Steve with his old man, it shouldn't have been him. Not the kid. He's so goddamn young."

"Not anymore," Soda says, tossing a dying cigarette into the snow.

I understand Soda's fear; that I'm no longer innocent. That with my parents, Dallas and Johnny, Donald Parker and now this…I've seen too much for my brothers to be comfortable.

But I know one thing that Soda doesn't.

This hasn't changed a thing; I never was.

XXXXX

I stumble in the shadows of the hallway, finding balance as I hit a pool of moonlight. I work off my senses, off the house I have lived in since I was born. The kitchen tile is cold beneath my feet and I swear softly as I hit Darry's toolbox with my shin. Squinting in the darkness, I find a glass and run the tap.

"Nightmare?" a dry voice asks.

"No," I turn from the sink to find Steve Randle lying on the couch. "Thirsty." I hold up the glass to prove my point. "Besides, I don't think I'll have them anymore."

Steve sits up and eyes me. "What makes you so sure?"

"Just a feeling."

"How is it?" Steve nods at my cast, a smug smile on his face. "Getting around with one arm?"

"Makes it hard to smoke."

Steve smiles, but it is false, tinged with condescension. "So, smart ass, you learn your lesson yet?"

I bristle and retort: "Your dad throw you out again?"

Steve crosses his arms, a shadow darkening his face. "No. I was smart enough to leave before things got out of hand."

I wince. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"You know what I mean," Steve snaps and then growls with frustration. "Kid, I get why you didn't tell…but no matter what that woman said, Darry and Soda would've moved heaven and hell to get you outta there."

Steve pauses and raises an eyebrow. "Legal or not."

"Can it, Steve," I fire back. "I already heard about Soda's meeting with Mike." And then I smirk at his shocked expression.

Steve frowns and then gives it up. "Goddamn it. I knew Two-Bit couldn't keep his big trap shut. When he'd tell you?"

"He didn't. I overhead him and Soda talkin' about it."

Leaning back into the couch, Steve shakes his head. "Well, that don't make up for it. You might as well have told Darry and Soda and saved them both some time and some problems. Not to mention hospital bills."

Suddenly irritated by Steve Randle's lecture, I slam my glass on the countertop. "Look, I feel guilty enough without you throwing this back in my face. Why do you care anyways? I'm not _your_ damn problem."

Steve's mouth opens and shuts as he decides something. At last he says, "I was the closest one to the problem. The way you talked about Mike - if you did talk about him at all - I could hear something…_dead_ in your voice."

"I had all the clues in front of me. I just didn't find them." Steve chuckles shallowly. "Sometimes I wonder if I did it on purpose."

And then I say what I've been telling people ever since I have got back home. "It's not your fault." It's so repetitive and monotone that I wonder if it even matters. But it's not from lack of caring. It's from shock at Steve's admission.

"I just forgot," he says honestly. "I forgot how you sound when it first happens. How you just…" He snaps his fingers. "…Close off."

Dazed and hazy, I stand in the kitchen, thinking hard.

I swallow the lump in my throat. My confession comes fast and loose, seeming to echo throughout the sullen house. "It's true. You do. Shut down."

Steve seems both relieved and sorry for my words. "I gave you too much credit Ponyboy," he muses, exhaling into his hands. "That you'd tell if something happened."

"Everyone did," I admit. _Shoot, even I had given myself too much_.

"Shit Ponyboy. You shouldn't have to turn out like me."

"Believe it or not Steve, you're not so bad."

Steve considers this. He chuckles and nods seriously. "Maybe so. But I could've been better."

XXXXX

"Merry Christmas," Soda whispers, his warm breath tickling my ear. "C'mon get up. I'm starting breakfast."

I smile into my pillow and stifle a yawn. "In that case, I think I'll sleep a little longer."

He pokes me in the ribs and shakes me. "Oh, that's funny. I guess Santa was right to put coal in your stocking after all."

"I'll bet he did," I murmur sleepily.

Soda ruffles my hair once more and then bounds out of the room, yelling, "Up and at 'em, Ponyboy!"

After a few more minutes of lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, I hear various strains of swear words floating into my room. Curious, I get up and mosey into the kitchen where Soda has a small fire going.

"Lord almighty Sodapop!" I yelp as the flames jump off the frying pan. "You know you're not supposed to cook bacon!"

"But it's Christmas!" Then his face turns serious, as the flames grow higher. "Shit!" Soda curses. "Pone, get the door."

I dart to the door and fling it open as Sodapop grabs up the frying pan in one potholdered hand and tosses it outside. It hits a pile of snow with a sizzling _thud_.

"Well, there went breakfast," Sodapop quips as we both stare at the hole in the snow. We step back inside as he pulls the door shut. "Cereal?"

"Cereal's safer," I say, grabbing the milk from the fridge. "Where's Darry?"

Soda plunks spoons and bowls on the table and we both sit down. "Cellar. Went to get the presents. They're buried in a trash can, next to those old bicycles."

I shake my head ruefully. "How do you know where he hides them?" Every year, Soda guesses the exact location which makes Darry try to hide them all the harder.

"I have my sources." Soda smirks and then lowers his head to wolf down his cereal.

"You know," I point my spoon at Soda. "He wouldn't have to hide them if you didn't try to open them early every year."

He shrugs. "What? And ruin the fun?"

The front door slams. "Mornin' Darry," I smile at my older brother as he walks into the kitchen.

Darry, a few gifts stuck in his arms, pauses briefly to sniff the air. "What is that—"

"Hey Darry," Soda drawls with a mouthful of cereal. "How was the…cellar?"

Darry instantly forgets his question and scowls at Sodapop. "Next year," is all he says.

Then, Darry smiles slightly, seeing me. "Merry Christmas Ponyboy." He sets the presents on the table and sits next to Sodapop. Looking regretful, he rubs the back of his head. "I wish we could have gotten a tree."

"It's not a big deal. Really," I hurry to reassure him. My brother's hadn't thought I'd be home in time for Christmas so they didn't plan on buying one. When Darry went out to get one they were all sold out.

"So, Sodapop…you're not cooking anything for breakfast?" Darry's not giving up. "Not even…toast?

"Nope. Just cereal," Soda replies with a straight face. Darry narrows his eyes evaluating Sodapop.

I watch their easy bickering with a sort of wistfulness. Like it or not, the three-month hiatus from my brothers has made me a stranger. Little things like the hole in the wall Darry had made after the trial, their unspoken conversations, make me wonder what else I have missed; what else I have not been around for.

Soda, sensing an inquisition, hops up from the table. "Well, looks like it's my turn to get my presents." He looks down at Darry. "You wanna take a guess? Last chance."

Crossing his arms, my older brother shakes his head, trying to keep a smile off his face.

"Fine. Guess you'll never know…" Soda strolls off down the hall, his figure disappearing behind the corner. Then he shouts out: "Your room Darry! Third dresser drawer, behind those pant suits you never wear!" Soda lets out a cackle and slams a door.

Darry finally laughs out loud. "Right under my nose."

I force a smile and push my cereal bowl away.

Darry misses nothing. "What?" he asks, catching my uncomfortable smile.

"Nothing." I shake my head. "I just feel out of the loop is all. Like I missed a lot of stuff going on around here."

"You did," Darry agrees. "But Pone, it wasn't the same without you." He stands up to pour himself some coffee as an awkward silence settles over us.

I feel Darry's eyes on me; knowing something's coming. "How're you feeling these days, Ponyboy?" he asks, taking advantage of our time alone.

"Swell," I say truthfully, twisting around in my seat to look at him. "My head hasn't hurt since-" I cut off, remembering the cause of my lessened pain. "-Well, since I left the Manns'."

Darry winces but pushes on. "Any nightmares?"

"No…at least none that I can remember."

Darry's blue eyes are questioning. "You're all right though…aren't you? Because if you're not…" Darry halts mid-sentence. "Shit," he swears, running a hand through his hair. "I'm not very good at this."

"Darry?" I question, unsure as to what he's getting at, but interested nonetheless.

My usually closed-off brother has been unusually straightforward these days. I think somewhere along the way Darry realized that he'd have to open up – become the mediator - to get us through it all. I smile inside, proud of him.

Taking a deep breath, Darry comes back to the table and sits down across from me. "Ponyboy, I'm sorry I didn't tell you about Parker. It wasn't fair to you. To any of us really."

"It's ok, Darry. I understand." And finally I do. Betrayal and disbelief have long faded away.

Then, I say in earnest: "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about Mike – about what was happening."

I wait for Darry to tell me that he understands. But he doesn't. Darry's face clouds over for a moment. Clearing his through roughly, he reaches out and ruffles my hair. "I'm glad you're home."

Blinking, I hide my disappointment at his response. Darry will never understand – will never accept – what has happened that hurt his family. He sees his side and his side only.

I think of telling my brother that despite what has happened maybe it worked out the way it should have. That everything had its reasons.

My head – my health - no longer hurts; Soda and I are gradually coming to terms with the accident; and Darry's custody will probably never again be challenged.

I think of telling him all this and decide against it. _I _get it; but Darry sure ain't me. Not by a long shot.

So, I keep this to myself and tell my brother: "Me too."

The peaceful morning is broken as a loud yell fills the air. Two-Bit suddenly kicks the front door in, clambering through. "Hey Curtises look what I found!"

"Oh no," Darry whispers, covering his eyes. Soda scrambles into the living room and I crane my neck to see what has bothered Darry. Behind Two-Bit, half-dragged into our living room, is a Christmas tree. With tinsel.

"Two-Bit, please tell me you didn't steal that thing." Darry looks out from under his hand. Soda nods his head and gives our friend a thumbs-up.

Two-Bit tugs at the tree. "Steal is such a harsh word. I prefer borrow."

Steve, not far behind, squeezes past the tree and Two-Bit. He strides into the room, holding up a familiar object. Soda scoots off down the hall. "Darry, did you know you had a frying pan in your front yard?"

XXXXX

I'd know the sound anywhere. The rumble of the engine familiar to no one except me.

I make an excuse that I'm going outside for a smoke; but Soda is too busy setting up the ill-gotten tree to notice.

Stepping outside, I cross the front porch and there's Jake, sitting on his bike. I place my good arm on the railing and glare at him.

His laugh – like a bark – cuts the silence of the morning. "Oh Squirt, don't give me that look. I'm here now, ain't I?"

"Took you long enough," I reply sourly. Then quieter, "I thought you had left."

"Gotta say goodbye before I can leave." Jake cuts the engine and hops off his bike.

I had known it was coming all along, but my stomach still drops. "You're leaving now ain't you?" My eyes go to the back of his bike, where he has a small bag strapped down.

"Sure am," he drawls. "But first, thought I'd give you your Christmas present." Jake holds out a brown paper wrapped bundle.

I don't want to take it. It's like accepting his coming absence. But I shield my eyes against the sun, come down the steps and take it. I tear the wrapping off, to reveal Johnny's copy of _Gone With the Wind_.

I smile at the book, relief washing over me. "Thanks. I thought I'd never see this again. I wanted to go back for it…but…" Then, I ask what I know I shouldn't. "How's Franny?"

Jake seems annoyed that I have asked this but he simply says: "Alive."

This time, I'm annoyed. "So, you're just leaving her?"

"You think I should stay?" he asks, curious.

"No," I admit. Franny would survive because Mike would come back. I was too damn sure of that.

Jake scratches the stubble on his cheek and nods at the house. "How're your brothers?"

I shift my weight, the snow beneath my feet crunching. "Good. Happy."

"I'm sure they are," Jake mulls, and then asks abruptly, "Did you tell them the truth?"

"Yah." Reconsidering, I think of Darry and amend my statement. "Most of it."

"Was it worth it?" Jake asks.

I glance back over my shoulder. "I'll let you know." Then, remembering why he's really here, I frown. "Where you gonna go Jake?"

He looks up into the sun and when he looks back at me, his eyes are the reddest they've ever been. "California. Just ride until I reach the ocean."

Worried, I take a step toward him. "Will you reach it?" It's the closest I can come to actually asking him.

Jake's fine when he stays in one place - when he has something to hold on to, something to do. But he's like Dallas – when he wanders, he'll go back to old habits, no matter how hard he's tried to kill them.

"Don't worry about it, Squirt. The time for me being here has come and gone. I gotta go." Jake's eyes move to something behind me. When I glance back over my shoulder Darry's standing in the doorway watching us.

Ignoring Darry, I try again. "Jake-"

Jake smiles as he climbs back onto his bike. "You can't save everyone, Squirt," Jake says. "You can only save yourself."

Jake revs the engine and peels off down the street. My hands begin to sweat and I grip the book tightly, careful not to let it fall into the snow. I barely recognize that Darry is now next to me. Gently, he places a hand on my shoulder. "Is he going, Ponyboy?" he asks softly.

I stare down the street as Jake rounds the corner, disappearing. "Yep. He's gone."

XXXXX

My breath comes out in hard puffs, my legs achy and tingling. But I fly – running hard, my feet kicking up red clay earth. I think of nothing, only that I am back. That I am _here_.

I finish the lap, jogging to a stop. Wiping the sweat from my forehead, I turn around in time to see Adam Baker come in second.

"You beat me," he gasps.

"Barely," I say, trying not to smile.

"Shut up," he laughs, sprinting down the track for one last practice lap.

"I see you've been practicing," Coach Quinn calls out. "Glad you're back for Spring Training, Curtis" he grunts, never one for lengthy discussions. "Let's get you to State this year."

And that's when I know I made the team. "Thanks Coach," I say with a grin, grabbing up my backpack.

A honk sounds out in the distance and I know it's Sodapop. He had wanted to come by for the tryouts. Soda's sitting on the tailgate as I make my way up to him.

"I made it," I announce happily.

"I knew it," he replies. "Wanna go tell Darry?"

I agree and we climb into the truck, Soda chattering about his day at the DX. I stare out the window as he drives, seeing the blossoming trees and I can't believe how long ago everything has been.

I sneak a look at my brother's face, thankful he's still Sodapop. There had been a time when I wasn't sure we'd make it. But time does wonders for the angry and the scared.

I don't blame him anymore and Soda isn't afraid for me. It will still be a while before he rides again, but I'm working on it.

Jake was only partly right. You _can't_ save everyone; but you can save those who want to be saved. I'm still trying to understand what Jake really meant, but I figure it's a work in progress.

"Oh hey, Pone," Soda says. "You got something in the mail today." Without taking his eyes off the road, Soda reaches over to the passenger side and pops open the glove box. A few tools and cigarette cartons fall out as Sodapop begins digging around.

"Whoa!" I grab the wheel with my left hand and steer as the truck swerves.

"Found it."

I take the crisp white envelope from my brother, not recognizing the handwriting. Soda busies himself with the radio as I slide my finger under the seal, breaking it. I slip the paper out and unfold the letter.

I gasp. Nearly dropping the unexpected memento.

_Hey Squirt…_

And so it ends. The way it all began. With a letter.

XXXXX

That's all folks! Thanks for reading!

Pardon any typos.

Please review!


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